Chapter Text

When Aziraphale Eastgate had woken up that day, he couldn’t have possibly imagined how bad it would turn out to be.

Mostly because Aziraphale’s everyday life consisted in a series of well consolidated routines.

On an average day he woke up, had a solid English breakfast (even if he’d been living in the States for more than 35 years, he still couldn’t help but follow the deep-rooted traditions of his native country), he wished his partner Rafe a jolly good day and he took the bus to Yale where he was chair in the Department of English.

Depending on the day, he would teach a class or two, catch up on grading, do some research and update his lessons material.

One day a week, he would meet with students at scheduled visiting hours (and these were the days he disliked the most).

Aziraphale had been a professor of Comparative Literature and English at Yale for ten years by now, but he still preferred the research activity rather than lectures.

The whole talking-to-students thing, well, it wasn’t really his cup of tea.

Aziraphale wasn’t really a persons person. He had to deal with this aspect of his job, of course, but if it had been up to him, the door to his office would have always been closed – to anyone.

He saw no reason for unwanted physical presence, let alone physical contact. He could always answer his students’ questions by mail, or even better by phone.

Unfortunately, many of his students preferred vis-à-vis interaction and he couldn’t avoid them. At least, not if he wanted to keep his job, as the dean had told him a hundred times before.

The problem with Aziraphale was that he didn’t really like being around other people. It made him nervous, mostly because he always felt inadequate, an ongoing conviction most certainly due to the fact that he’d grown up craving for his father’s approval whilst his elder brother Gabriel was the personification of the Greek god Apollo, always the best at everything. (Seriously, everything.)

Gabriel was the tallest, the most handsome, the funniest, the most ambitious, the most popular, the smartest. (Well, maybe not – really the smartest.)

Aziraphale’s IQ was 176, he’d graduated magna cum laude and he was a Professor at Yale. The University had begged him to accept a tenure, so much so that he’d almost felt obliged to accept their offer, even if all he’d ever wanted was doing research, possibly in his study, at home, alone.

And Gabriel… well, after a short interlude as an actor in a sci-fi production, he had turned to the dark side. When his brother had realised that acting wasn’t really for him, he’d become a producer for a famous film studio, and within the last ten years he’d made more money than he would possibly be able to spend in a lifetime.

Not that he’d actually needed to make money, mind you, not if you consider how wealthy Aziraphale and Gabriel’s family was.

But status was everything to his brother, and Gabriel never missed a chance to remind Aziraphale of its importance. That’s the kind of brother he was. A charming self-centered second-rate celebrity who’d been famous for a while and tried (more often than not) to make his younger brother feel less worthy than he already did.

🎄🎄🎄

Gabriel was also the kind of brother who had introduced Aziraphale to Rafe.

Rafe worked in the industry, one of those actors you can’t really name, but you just know that you’ve seen them, somewhere.

One of those faces that makes you open IMDb only to silence the voice in your head asking, ‘Where did I see this one?’, and then you find their name, you read their filmography and WHAM! There you go, he was a cop in NCIS, or a villain in an episode of Doctor Who, or a guest in that episode of The Big Bang Theory.

Aziraphale often wondered why Rafe had chosen him.

He’d never felt like a catch, he wasn’t particularly attractive, and he was – as his brother never forgot to remind him at every possible occasion – soft.

And yet, Rafe had wanted to date him, court him, move in with him. He’d practically begged Aziraphale to accept him into his house.

At the beginning of their relationship, Aziraphale had considered this a teeny bit romantic. He’d assumed that Rafe had probably fallen in love with his refined eloquence and his elegant manners, if not with his physical appearance.

More recently, Aziraphale had come to the realisation that his first assumption had been totally wrong and he’d started to believe that his partner was appreciative of his status, more than anything else. (And this shouldn’t have come as a surprise, considering who’d introduced him to Rafe.)

Rafe’s latest gig dated back to more than six months prior. Aziraphale often (every night?) came back home only to find him playing on the Xbox, sometimes with friends.

When interrogated about those particularly attractive men that he considered just friends, Rafe usually shrugged off any possible argument by saying that Aziraphale was making himself ridiculous by being preposterously jealous.

The problem was that Aziraphale wasn’t actually jealous of him. Of course, he wasn’t that daft. He was almost certain that Rafe wasn’t totally faithful, but he didn’t really blame him. Especially considering that their sexual life was almost non-existent.

They had had a few passable weeks at the beginning of their relationship when they had slept together, but that was because they’d been mostly testing their sex compatibility), and Rafe had seemed to be attracted to him. (Things had considerably slowed down in that, uhm, field. Hence the by now almost non-existent sex life).

It wasn’t just Rafe’s fault, to be fair. Things weren’t that different for Aziraphale. Rafe was a man who exuded a roguish charm that would make anyone fall at his feet. And yet, with him Aziraphale had never felt ‘the spark’. The mythical butterflies in your stomach that make you realise you’ve found the one, your other half.

To be fair, Aziraphale had probably never felt like that. Not that there had been so many opportunities to ever feel like that, considering his short list of ex-partners. The only one worth mentioning was Daniel, one of his classmates in the doctoral program, and probably the only man he’d ever developed some kind of emotional bond with.

Their relationship hadn’t lasted in the long run, but Aziraphale couldn’t deny that at least, with Daniel, he usually felt eager to fall in bed, something that had never happened again, not with his (few) later partners and not with Rafe. He’d always thought it was because Daniel had a brilliant mind, and they spent hours talking about literature before getting into bed (which was definitely the easiest way to turn Aziraphale on). Maybe the fact that they had shared something had been the key to unlock his sexual drive?

If so, he was doomed, because Aziraphale had never felt this kind of intellectual connection with Rafe, they had nothing whatsoever in common, and maybe that was the reason why he didn’t feel that kind of sexual… appetite, either.

When Rafe had moved in, Aziraphale had been interested in finding out whether cohabitation would rekindle whatever it was that had made him want to be with Rafe at the beginning. The camaraderie but also the flirty banter, those feelings of excitement and anticipation that led to fireworks in the bedroom. Something he’d last felt with Daniel, blurry memories of sensations that Aziraphale was fairly sure he wouldn’t be able to experience with anyone else anymore.

It hadn’t taken him long to register that his disinterest towards Rafe wasn’t determined by the living arrangements.

The few times they’d had sex, it had almost felt awkward. Like they didn’t belong together, like they weren’t compatible. At all.

Aziraphale usually preferred spending an evening with a good book and a glass of wine, rather than in bed with his partner. He’d somehow started to believe that he was trapped in a dull relationship from which he couldn’t escape. Mostly because he felt that being with Rafe was enough, that what little they shared was enough. He also tried to ignore the traitorous voice in the back of his mind that reminded him that he wouldn’t find anyone else who might like him and want to live with him, if he let go of Rafe. (Yes, that voice sounded very much like Cowardice.)

And yet, despite the lack of intimacy, Rafe had decided to stay, probably because living with Aziraphale was a very convenient accommodation.

And Aziraphale, on his part, had stopped looking for a deep bond that would ignite ‘the spark’. He’d simply decided to settle for what he already had, knowing that someone like him shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth, and even if he’d lost his chance to find someone else, someone who could make him happy, his life with Rafe was enough.

It had to be enough.

Even if he wasn’t in love with him. (Even if he’d lost any hope of finding true love.)

Such a lot of bollocks, they would say in England.

(England. Tadfield. Home.)

🎄🎄🎄

Aziraphale and Gabriel’s parents had been a very uncommon couple. They’d gotten married after a long hot summer spent together in England (Aziraphale often wondered how hot that summer had been, seeing that his very proud-to-be-British mother had found it in her heart to marry his unbearably-yankee father). They had nothing whatsoever in common, his father being the firstborn of one of the richest families of the New York Tri-State area and his mother being an heir of one of the most sophisticated families in England.

Maybe their marriage had been an arrangement between their families, or maybe his parents had just been hallucinating because of the heat of that infamous summer, Aziraphale didn’t really know.

What he knew was that his mother had found herself pregnant and the result of that foolish summer was still inconveniently manifesting his tendency to be a real prick (or a pain in the ass, as they say in the States) each passing day.

After getting the news, the Eastgates and the Boltons had promptly put together a shotgun wedding, and when the child had been born seven months later, they had made people believe that he was premature.

(As if anyone watching that baby boy of almost 10 pounds would ever believe him to be premature.)

They had named him Gabriel after the Archangel, being his mother very fond of the theme (even if Aziraphale doubted she had felt like Virgin Mary when she’d found out about her own pregnancy).

But it hadn’t taken his parents more than two years to realise that they couldn’t stand each other. At least that was what his mother always told him when she spoke about her marriage.

What bothered Aziraphale even nowadays was the fact that even if they had never loved each other, somehow his parents had found themselves involved with a second child before splitting up for good. The word accident always prompted in his mind when he thought about the circumstances surrounding his own birth. (The same word often slipped from his brother’s mouth when they talked about it with acquaintances, colleagues, and relatives.)

When he recalled his childhood, all Aziraphale could remember was his parents arguing and the fact that they couldn’t manage being in each other’s presence for more than five minutes. They paired up only when strictly necessary, for events and galas and public holidays. As for the rest of their time, they kept themselves differently occupied. With friends, work, charity balls. Also, with secret affairs – at least when it came to his father.

They had moved to New York when Aziraphale was five and Gabriel eight, and his older brother had completed his transformation into the perfect American gentleman in no time. Aziraphale, instead, had always indulged in their British heritage.

Whereas Gabriel drank tons of cappuccinos and soft drinks, Aziraphale loved tea – hot tea, not iced tea (Good Lord).

Gabriel was the athlete, the footballer, and later the actor (not a stage actor, as he’d only managed to make a few appearances in that tv show before shifting to the producing side of the industry).

On the contrary, Aziraphale kept informed about international news, he watched the BBC, he had always had a tendency for English literature – Shakespeare and Austen being his longtime favorites – and in the end he had decided to make a career out of it.

Gabriel was the classic American fella whilst Aziraphale’s accent was impeccably RP, posh, refined. (So much so that people often wondered if he was the actor.)

His mother was proud of him for that. They could talk in proper English when it was only the two of them.

His mother had been the only human being more openly kind to him rather than Gabriel. Aziraphale had often assumed that she resented her firstborn, maybe because his brother looked so much like his father while Aziraphale had inherited his mother’s blue-grey eyes and her pale complexion. And her trademark white-blonde hair, that was fluffy, soft, almost cottony.

His mother had also taught him to sing. Oh, the hours they had spent singing together.

She loved the oldies, the classics. The Beatles, sure, but also the American inventors of rock and roll. Buddy Holly, Ritchie Valens, Chuck Berry, Bob Dylan.

But as soon as Queen’s first album had been published, Freddy Mercury had stolen her heart. Aziraphale’s taste was more sophisticated than that… bebop. He loved classical music, and Šostakovič and Beethoven were among his favorites. But he’d spent so much time with his mother that he’d learnt all her favorite songs nonetheless; she made him play them on the piano while singing together. And he’d eventually started to accept that some of those tunes were quite catching.

His mother joked about her second child being her little puffy cherub, when he was a kid, leaving aside the fact that he, too, had been named after an angel. And when he’d grown up, the ‘cherub’ pet name had turned into ‘angel’, because despite his still soft appearance, he definitely wasn’t little anymore.

As for his father, he had been out of the picture for years. He’d asked for a divorce and moved to Los Angeles to marry a younger woman, an actress, ironically. A woman who was often referred to as a twinkie (a slang term that Aziraphale had obviously started to understand only when he’d gotten older).

His parents’ divorce had become final when he was eleven. He hadn’t seen his father since, and the man had never asked of him (but he’d never been particularly fond of Aziraphale in the first place).

At the beginning, his father had encouraged Gabriel to go visit him in L.A., so his brother had been to California a few times, especially when he’d graduated (barely) and started his acting career.

They rarely spoke about him, but Aziraphale knew that the last meeting between father and son had been a total fucking disaster (Gabriel’s words, not his).

Gabriel had come back from LA looking like hell and pretending nothing had happened, but Aziraphale knew better. He had the distinct feeling that Gabriel had been dismissed like an old sock full of holes.

The two of them had never been particularly in tune with each other, but that day Aziraphale had watched his brother’s armor crumble under his eyes. It had never happened again, and the two of them had secretly decided that their old man wasn’t worth being mentioned anymore.

Considering that money had never been an issue, seeing their mother’s estate, their future would be bright even without him. Especially, without him.

🎄🎄🎄

Unfortunately, their mother had passed away a few years later after a short but painful agony. She’d lasted only three months, after the diagnosis.

During one of their last conversations, she made Aziraphale promise to go back to England, one day. Their beloved England.

She didn’t have the chance to get back to her hometown, always procrastinating the trip to a more convenient time. And when time ran out, she really wanted Aziraphale to make that trip as soon as he could. She wanted him to go home.

“Tadfield is just a little town, sweetheart. And I know we’ve only lived there for a few years, but it’s the last place where I’ve been happy. It was everything to me. I wish you could feel as happy as I was when we still lived there.”

“I won’t be happy until you get better, mother,” Aziraphale answered, managing to keep a straight face even if a sad smile was darkening his traits.

“You know, you’ve always been a bad liar,” she replied. “And I know that you’re not happy here. In the States, I mean.”

“I’ve got everything I need, mother. I am a tenured professor in one of the most renowned Universities in the whole world. People envy my position. They respect me.”

“But you don’t have love in your life, Aziraphale. Can you live only on respect?”

“Gabriel doesn’t have love either, mother,” he pointed out.

“Gabriel doesn’t need love. Not yet. You deserve someone who loves you for the awesome human being that you are.”

Aziraphale sighed at those words, a tear forming at the corner of his eyes.

“A man that makes you incandescently happy,” she finally stated, almost in a whisper. Her son immediately noticed her choice of words. Aziraphale’s eyes had gotten so wide at that revelation. He couldn’t imagine how his mother had found out about this.

“A – a man?”

His mother smiled, tenderly. “I didn’t want to leave this Earth without you knowing that I know. A mother always knows.”

“How – how long?”

“Probably since you started reading Oscar Wilde at any possible chance.”

Aziraphale chuckled softly, taking his mother’s hand in his. “I’m so relieved that you know, mother. And… it doesn’t bother you?”

She looked almost outraged. “What kind of mother do you think I am?”

“I thought father–”

“I never cared about what he thought. He would probably be very disappointed about this, and that’s one of the reasons why we should be happy he’s not in our lives anymore.”

Aziraphale nodded solemnly.

“I’m glad we’ve had this conversation. And you’ve got to promise me that you will consider my words. Find love, sweetheart. Find somebody to love.”

“Quoting Freddy Mercury. Such a low blow, mother.”

As she smiled tenderly, she started singing with a faint voice.

I have spent all my years in believing you
But I just can’t get no relief, Lord

Aziraphale immediately joined her.

Somebody (somebody),
ooh, somebody (somebody)
Can anybody find me
somebody to love?

They shared a cathartic laugh, holding hands for dear life.

Aziraphale didn’t know it would be their last.

🎄🎄🎄

Aziraphale’s heart was still recovering from that loss when he’d met Rafe. In a way, he’d seemed like a ray of sunshine after a storm (back then). Aziraphale had almost felt like he was keeping his promise to his mother of finding someone to love.

He felt good when he was with Rafe, like he’d checked off an important box. But he was lying to himself. Certainly, he’d had some kind of feelings for him, at some point. But were those feelings love? Aziraphale didn’t believe so.

He wasn’t sure he’d ever actually fallen in love. He’d had relationships, some of which had lasted longer than others.

But a deep connection to someone? Love?

It was such an important four-letter word. He didn’t want to waste it, not when his mother had been the last person to hear those words coming from his mouth.

So, even if he cared deeply for Rafe, he’d obviously never told him.

Being in love – that was complicated.

Risky.

Not for Aziraphale.

And tonight, after the dullest breakup in the history of breakups, Aziraphale came to the realisation that he’d been right all along. He’d never told Rafe that he loved him because he’d never been in love with him in the first place.

🎄🎄🎄

“What the fuck happened, Aziraphale?” Gabriel asked him as soon as he showed up at his door (probably prompted by Rafe’s phone call rather than by Aziraphale texting him to come).

“Are you ok?” Gabriel asked, looking (vaguely yet unexpectedly) interested in his well-being.

Yes, when Aziraphale had woken up that day, he couldn’t have possibly imagined how bad it would turn out to be. As he welcomed Gabriel into his house, he sighed in defeat.

“I’m just tickety-boo.”

Chapter Text

Two hours earlier

Three hours of oral exams with mostly unprepared students, two hours of a boring seminar held by one of his less skilled colleagues in the coldest auditorium ever and worst of all, no lunch.

Getting home for dinner felt like Relief.

Aziraphale turned his keys in the lock announcing his presence as soon as the door opened.

“I’m home. I hope you cooked something because I’m starving, I could eat an entire ox!”

No answer.

The television was on, but Rafe was nowhere to be seen. Which was weird, considering the time.

‘Maybe he’s showering’.

Aziraphale paced through the apartment looking for him, wondering if Rafe had gone out without informing him.

As he climbed the stairs to the second floor, he heard noises. Water running. Muffled voices.

Aziraphale walked almost mechanically to Rafe’s bathroom (it was an extremely luxurious house, no wonder the two of them used different bathrooms to save time to get ready in the morning).

Aziraphale noticed all sorts of garments discarded on the bedroom floor, and when he realised that he didn’t recognize a few of them, a weird sensation took over him.

Feeling a bit dizzy, he silently opened the door of the bathroom in one quick motion.

Rafe was taking a shower, as Aziraphale had suspected. But he wasn’t alone.

Aziraphale tried to distinguish the other man’s features through the steam, his face seemed familiar.

(For a moment, he also wondered why he was more concerned with finding out why the man’s face looked familiar rather than being upset for catching his partner in flagrante.)

The moans coming from the shower left nothing to the imagination when Rafe’s friend kneeled.

Aziraphale was speechless, an intangible ghostly presence in his own house.

Rafe noticed him only when he opened his eyes in a break between the moans of pleasure elicited by the ministrations of his lover.

(Aziraphale found himself envying the other man: at least he was having some kind of lunch, in this unexpected scenario.)

“Oh – Oh – fuck!” Rafe yelled, trying to pull the other man’s hair to make him stand from his compromising position between his legs. He didn’t, though. Another indecent noise filled the room as the other man sucked the daylights out of Rafe, making him whimper.

“Please, do finish, dear,” Aziraphale commented sarcastically, arms crossed.

(Aziraphale was more disappointed than furious, but he wouldn’t give Rafe the satisfaction to know this.)

One second later, Rafe’s disoriented but extremely satisfied gaze was proof enough of what was happening down there. His hand spasmed as he looked for something to hold onto as he came, clenching the knob and turning the water off. Now Aziraphale could hear an even clearer sound of a mouth sucking and licking his partner’s cock, apparently until the very last drop had been cleaned.

“Fuck, you taste good,” the other man let go of a satisfied moan. “Can I fuck you now?”

Coming back from his orgasmic-induced bliss, Rafe slapped the other man’s shoulders, still trying to catch his breath.

“What?” the other man asked, clearly annoyed by Rafe’s hands pulling his hair.

When he finally stood up and turned his head, following Rafe’s agonizing nod, he watched as Aziraphale wiggled his fingers at him.

“Jesus Christ,” he simply commented.

“Only me, I’m afraid. Good to see you again, Mr Morningstar,” Aziraphale greeted the actor when he finally recognized him. “May I ask you to leave my home while Rafe and I sort this mess out?”

Morningstar snorted at his forced politeness, getting out of the shower with a cold smirk on his face (and an objectively huge erect cock flattened up his belly).

Aziraphale felt the man’s gaze as he scrutinized him with a judgy once-over, and he watched in horror as Morningstar lingered on his tartan bowtie.

His icy smirk grew even wider.

“I can’t believe you ever lost time with this pathetic excuse for a man, Rafe. Call me when you’re done, luv, you still owe me a proper fuck.”

Morningstar left the bathroom. Aziraphale waited until the noises coming from the bedroom faded, and when he heard the main door closing downstairs, he finally left the bathroom as well.

“Aziraphale, I can explain–”

Aziraphale raised a hand to stop Rafe’s attempt at an explanation. “Get dressed, please,” he asked, and it wasn’t a request.

Rafe nodded miserably and Aziraphale got downstairs to wait for him, sitting on a stool of their hideously modern kitchen. (No. His, not theirs.)

Five minutes later, Rafe joined him, his hair still damp after the shower.

“How long?” Aziraphale asked.

“A few weeks,” Rafe admitted.

“Jolly good,” Aziraphale murmured, taking out the kettle. He needed tea for this conversation.

“You’re never around, Aziraphale.”

“Please, don’t use me as a justification for what you’ve done,” he retorted, scorned by the mere fact that Rafe considered his affair to be his fault.

“And when you’re here, it’s like you aren’t. It’s impossible to have a relationship with you, Aziraphale. I care for you, but you always make it so hard to like you! We never do things together, you don’t even like going out with my friends–”

“Your friends can’t hold a conversation if it’s not about motorcycles or sports or tv shows. And just because I don’t like being with other people, it doesn’t mean that I don’t like doing things with you.”

Rafe shook his head. “The problem is you really don’t, Az. We never do things together because we’ve got nothing in common.”

“You never tried,” Aziraphale complained.

“Well, neither did you,” Rafe responded in kind.

Aziraphale couldn’t answer that. Rafe had a point.

“And what about intimacy? Sex has been off the table since… ever! Sometimes I feel like you don’t even want me. I mean, what’s the matter with you?”

Aziraphale was struck. “Why does there have to be something wrong with me?”

“Come on!” Rafe was evidently mocking him now. “Morningstar may be an asshole, but he knows what he does in the sack. That blowjob was the highlight of my week, Az, and he wasn’t even trying that hard. It was hot and mind blowing.”

Aziraphale looked at him in disbelief. “You want me to give you a pat on the back?”

Rafe ignored him and went on with his rant. “And– and– It’s not like we’ve ever been that connected. Even when we’ve had sex in the past, it was never good, it always felt… weird.”

“Weird?!” Aziraphale snapped, feeling dejected. (In hindsight, finding out that Rafe didn’t consider their intimate encounters good should have hurt him more than it did. In the end… this news wasn’t really that unsettling.)

“Like you didn’t belong there,” Rafe elucidated. “Like you did it only to… indulge me.”

Aziraphale’s breath was faster now. “Well, I’m sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable, dear.”

Rafe stood up and groaned to himself, clearly bothered. “See? That’s the problem, Aziraphale! You just found a man sucking my cock in our shower and you aren’t even pissed off at him, or at me?! Jesus, he mocked your entire ensemble with just one look, and you didn’t even flinch! Aren’t you mad at me for cheating on you?!”

Aziraphale was flabbergasted. Rafe’s perspective was so honest and depressingly on point that he couldn’t retort in any way. Rafe was right. Aziraphale wasn’t that angry about what had happened.

“I don’t know. Should I?” he asked, more to himself than to his partner.

Rafe sighed. “Well, that’s enough for me.”

All he got in response was Aziraphale’s silence.

“This is the dullest breakup in history.”

“What do you want me to say, Rafe?” Aziraphale said, finally raising his voice.

Rafe moved towards the door. “Nothing at all. There’s not much left to say, I s’pose.”

“What– what are you doing?”

“Leaving. I think it’s the best thing for both of us. No more pretenses. You can go back to being on your own. You and your damned books. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

That last sentence stung, but Aziraphale hadn’t a chance to reply; when he unglued his eyes from the floor, Rafe had already stormed out, slamming the door behind him.

Aziraphale sighed. And he was overwhelmed when he realised that even breaking up with his partner felt like Relief.

🎄🎄🎄

Now

“How could you let this happen?” Gabriel yelled at his brother.

Aziraphale watched him with incredulity.

“Thank you for your support, Gabriel!” he commented sarcastically.

“I’m sorry, Az, I don’t understand why you let him go. It’s not like you are going to find another man like that just around the corner.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re forty-two, Az. You’re not the most eligible bachelor in town.”

Aziraphale ignored his brother’s mean words, as usual.

“And well, he’s an actor. And it’s not like I can properly judge, but he is quite the handsome guy.”

“Rafe isn’t that good an actor. He hasn’t had a gig in months, he was practically living on my money. That’s probably the main reason he was still with me.”

Gabriel nodded in agreement. Aziraphale knew that his brother couldn’t fathom any other possible reason for a man like Rafe to be his partner. (And the saddest part was the Aziraphale had often thought the same.)

“That’s not why I called you here,” Aziraphale changed the subject. “Christmas is a few days away. The term is over, and I’m done with exams and lessons. I want to get away and forget about this mess. Being alone for a while as I sort things out.”

“This seems like a good idea. Where are you going?” Gabriel asked, sipping wine from his glass.

“England.”

Gabriel spat all the wine and coughed.

“Are you serious?” he shouted. “I mean… in the last thirty years you’ve only stayed in New York or– or New Haven! You’re not really the… adventurous type!”

“I can be.”

“You’re bookish. And you don’t really want to go.”

“I’m very serious, Gabriel! It’s one of the two promises I made to our mother. And this one, I want to keep.”

“What was the other promise?”

Aziraphale sighed, hopeless. “Finding someone to love.”

Gabriel inhaled deeply and nodded, considering. Aziraphale knew that his brother was by now persuaded that keeping that promise was a lost cause.

(And to be honest, Aziraphale thought so too.)

“England it is!” Gabriel blurted out. “When are you leaving? And where are you staying?”

Aziraphale shook his head. “That’s the part I haven’t figured out, yet.”

🎄🎄🎄

Aziraphale was sipping his wine while browsing the Internet on his laptop.

He’d been looking for accommodations in London for a few hours, by now. The costs for a last-minute single bedroom for Christmas would probably discourage even the Queen herself, but this was no problem for Aziraphale. Maybe he did not have real love in his life, but at least money had never been an issue.

His current predicament was the fact that he didn’t really want to stay in London. Of course, he wanted to see the city, take the chance to visit the National Gallery, go to the theatre, watch real actors performing some real Shakespeare.

But the more he looked for a place in London, the more his mother’s words came back to his mind.

‘Tadfield is just a little town, sweetheart. And I know we’ve only lived there for a few years, but it’s the last place where I’ve been happy. It was everything to me.’

Aziraphale sighed to himself, feeling his heart break a little like it always did when he thought about his mother.

Before going away, Gabriel had put on a random music playlist from his Spotify account (Aziraphale didn’t really know how to use it, but Gabriel insisted on sharing his account with him).

He heard the first notes of a song that his mother really liked and that also happened to be one of Gabriel’s personal favorites.

Everyday, it’s a gettin’ closer,
Goin’ faster than a roller coaster,
Love like yours will surely come my way,
Hey, hey, hey

Aziraphale was almost tempted to sing the last verse with Buddy Holly, but he didn’t.

As usual, he couldn’t.

He hadn’t sung since his mother’s death. It felt wrong, singing without her.

Everyday seems a little longer,
Every way, love’s a little stronger,
Come what may, do you ever long for
True love from me?

As he pondered over the lyrics of the song, he also remembered his mother’s wish for him to find someone to love.

“Well, that someone certainly wasn’t Rafe,” he said to himself.

Maybe Aziraphale was a modern-day Cantankerous Lover, a proper Alceste in disguise, but he made a solemn vow not to give up on himself anymore. He wouldn’t settle for little, he wouldn’t consider another relationship to be ‘enough’. (Which meant that he would probably spend the rest of his days as a hermit, but he was fine with it. Solitude is bliss, they say.)

So maybe Aziraphale was alone (again), maybe he wouldn’t find that someone.

‘I wish you could feel as happy as I was when we still lived there.’

But at least he could try and feel connected to his mother.

He wouldn’t be traveling for pleasure, this would be more like a… discovery trip.

He wanted to see Tadfield. He needed to stay there as long as he could. Celebrate Christmas like his mother would have done.

At home.

Energised by this newfound resolution, Aziraphale finished the wine in one gulp and googled:

tadfield accommodations christmas

The browser offered hundreds of results for hotels, B&Bs and apartments. Aziraphale scrolled the first page until one specific item in that long list caught his attention.

Cottages

Interesting.

He was transported back in time, filled with the sensation of waking up in his childhood home, with the fresh smell of pancakes and tea coming from downstairs when the housekeeper prepared breakfast for him and Gabriel.

They’d lived in a cottage back then. A house that resembled the ones he was looking at right now. His mother was always smiling, even when their father wasn’t around – probably more.

The countryside, the garden, the orchard.

Everything was perfect when they lived in Tadfield.

Aziraphale remembered only some of it. But the rest was, well… too far away in time.

Forgotten.

He wanted to get it back. He needed to.

“Let’s see if there’s someone out there who’s renting a cottage for Christmas.”

Hopeful, he smiled to himself for the first time in that very long day.

🎄🎄🎄

The more Aziraphale read the descriptions of those wonderful cottages, the harder it became to choose one.

He liked them all.

Maybe he was partial to a fairly good description, or maybe he simply loved all the pictures of the houses he was examining.

Rationally, he knew that he needed to pick one, and fast. Considering the time zone, if he immediately wrote to the owner, they would probably answer at…

“Oh bugger, it’s three o’ clock,” Aziraphale noticed.

Not that he usually slept more than five to six hours per night, but he really needed to make up his mind.

“Let’s try this one. Abbey Cottage,” he said to himself, opening another link.

This certainly sounded good enough. Aziraphale skimmed through the pictures of the refined décor: he could already picture himself reading in the armchair next to the fireplace, a cup of cocoa in one hand and a book in the other.

He was about to click on the contact info when a different name caught his attention.

Bluebell Lodge

Bluebells were his mother’s favorite flowers. Sometimes she’d mentioned a bluebell meadow close to her house in Tadfield.

Aziraphale opened the link and read the ad.

Aziraphale chuckled.

‘Unbelievable!’, he thought.

This was for a fact the silliest description he’d read throughout the night.

But the cottage looked as beautiful as the others he’d examined up to now.

The efficient, rational Aziraphale of a few hours ago would have never chosen this ad based on those words. He would have rolled his eyes and discarded it immediately.

But tonight, after the fatigue of his last day of work and moreover after his breakup with Rafe… well, maybe he just needed to act recklessly.

Taking a risk, for once.

He clicked on the contact link.

Aziraphale waited for a couple of minutes for the owner to reply, but he got no response.

He wrote another message.

Aziraphale took the bottle of wine to fill his glass and he noticed with displeasure that it was empty. He walked to the wine cabinet (the piece of furniture he was most proud of after his bookshelves – those deserved a whole room for themselves).

He took his time to unscrew the cap and savor the scent of the newly opened bottle of Châteauneuf-du-Pape, his favorite variety. He filled his glass and sat again.

He gasped in surprise when he noticed the answer in the chat window.

Aziraphale cringed at the language, but he was also vaguely amused.

Aziraphale squeezed his eyes in surprise. What did this person mean?

Aziraphale watched the three little dots dancing.

Beez had taken their time to reply. But in the end, their answer was just the one Aziraphale was hoping for.

Chapter Text

“Where you headed, mate?”

The taxi driver who’d been helping Aziraphale with his luggage was still waiting for directions.

“Uhm… Tadfield.”

“It’s gonna be a long ride. Got something to do while we go?”

Aziraphale smiled politely from the backseat. “Actually, I do.”

He took his worn-out copy of The Count of Monte Cristo from his carry-on bag and showed it proudly to the driver, turning the pages in a quick motion until he found his most recent bookmark.

During the six-hours flight from JFK to Heathrow, after a brief nap, he had read for more than three hours and he’d already gotten to one of his favorite chapters, the one with Mercédès and Edmond’s first reunion after the count’s misadventures with Albert in Rome.

Aziraphale had always had mixed feelings about the relationship between the two characters. The ending of Dumas’s feuilleton was satisfying, sure, but Aziraphale felt bad for Mercédès. She and Edmond had been in love when they were young, and it was unfair that they had lost each other due to the Machiavellian meddling of external forces. It was also one of the reasons why Aziraphale didn’t enjoy Haydee’s involvement in the story (it had taken him a while to accept the fact that the count didn’t end up with Mercédès, in the end).

Perhaps this umpteenth re-reading would make Aziraphale see things differently, who knew.

“Family visit?” the driver asked.

“Not really,” he replied, politely. “It’s more a… self-discovery vacation.”

“All alone for Christmas, eh?”

“You can say that,” Aziraphale wrapped up the conversation and went back to his book.

🎄🎄🎄

“This is it. Bluebell Lodge,” the driver announced.

Aziraphale had stopped reading a while ago, too fascinated with the landscape surrounding him. The English countryside was lovely this time of the year. Even if the land was made of dull earth and the only vegetation in sight consisted of a few bits of brown shrubs, he couldn’t help but gaze at it with fondness.

“Do you reckon it’s going to snow in the next few days?” he’d asked the driver a few minutes ago, hoping for a positive answer.

“Possibly, the weather forecast said something ‘bout snow, this morning.”

As soon as he got out of the car, gladly stretching his legs after sitting for almost two hours, Aziraphale’s eyes fell on the lovely, picturesque façade of the cottage.

It was even more enchanting in person than in the pictures.

Both he and Beez had been excited to get on the first available flights, but Aziraphale had had to wait almost 24 hours before getting on a plane. He’d reserved a seat on a night flight departing from New York at 11 PM which had landed in London the morning after, December 20th.

It was 2 PM now, and even if he was pretty tired from the long journey, he was determined not to rest yet.

Just the thought of taking a tour of the town and walking around to familiarise with his surroundings made his heart beat faster in anticipation.

He was very aware that the jet-lag would probably kick in sooner or later, but his return flight was booked for the 29^th. He wouldn’t waste time napping.

Aziraphale was diverted from his random reveries when the driver took his luggage from the trunk and delivered it to him.

“Thank you, dear fellow. How much do I owe you?”

Aziraphale paid the due fare and gave the driver a very generous tip.

“Thank you, mate. Merry Christmas. Have a nice stay.”

“I certainly hope so,” Aziraphale murmured back, more to himself than to the driver.

He waited until the taxi was out of sight to walk towards the entrance of the cottage, anxious to get inside. He took something from his pocket, a crumpled piece of paper where he’d taken a few notes about how items were spread around, in and out of the house.

Keep a spare key outside, ‘s hidden behind the fuckin’ vase by the door.

(Beez had been particularly colorful in listing a few of those.)

Aziraphale found the key exactly where Beez had instructed. Of course, he’d given them similar info, but he’d also asked Gabriel to be a gentleman and wait for their arrival to provide them with Aziraphale’s apartment key and to show them around. He hoped everything would go smoothly between them: Gabriel had never felt comfortable around queer people (besides his brother).

For his part, Aziraphale was secretly glad that Beez hadn’t asked anyone to wait for his arrival. Being on his own to gather his thoughts was the main goal of this whole trip. He hadn’t time to get accustomed to strangers and small talk.

Aziraphale opened the door and got inside, closing his eyes for a second as he inhaled the smell of pine propagating from the wood-panelled walls and timber flooring.

The living room was welcoming and warm. Aziraphale noticed a piece of paper attached to the mantel over the fireplace. He left his luggage and retrieved it.

Hi Az!
Leftovers r in the fridge and beers in the cellar. I fucking hate Xmas, so no decorations and NO tree.
If u need food I suggest u visit Tracy’s groceries shop.
Dirty Donkey’s the best pub in town if u want to get wasted, say that Beez sent u and u won’t even have to pay.
Hope u enjoy ur stay!

‘Thank you, Beez,’ thought Aziraphale.

He remembered the long letter he’d left for them back at home, written in a very different style, but with the same implicit fondness.

Among all the ads he’d seen on the website, he felt very lucky to have found Beez’.

After spending a good half an hour getting familiar with his surroundings, Aziraphale got all his belongings from his luggage and carry-on. He set up the bathroom with a disposable toothbrush and toothpaste and he gladly noticed how huge the shower was. Not as big as the one in his bathroom at home, and definitely smaller than the one in Rafe’s ensuite. (Aziraphale suddenly realised he needed to stop thinking about that bathroom as belonging to his ex-partner. One second later, he also realised how odd it was that he wasn’t conjuring up pictures of said ex-partner’s betrayal in the very same bathroom).

Yes, Beez’ shower was big enough to accommodate two people, but it wasn’t as if Aziraphale would ever get the chance to use it with someone else, so he might as well stop thinking about it.

The guest bedroom was the closest to the bathroom, as Beez had mentioned. Aziraphale smiled at the sight of the queen-size bed and the armchair placed close to another fireplace. He stacked the books he’d brought with him on the mahogany dresser in front of the bed and put his clothes in the wardrobe. He’d also packed some formal outfits, figuring that he might have occasion to go out and dine at a restaurant. His favorite tartan bowties had been the first thing he’d put in the luggage, but he’d also packed his most festive one, a red bowtie that Gabriel had given to him a few years back. It had probably been the only time his brother had given Aziraphale a Christmas gift that he’d truly appreciated.

Aziraphale had also packed some of his more casual trousers and shirts, seeing that he would probably spend most of the time at the cottage reading and writing, maybe listening to music.

Satisfied with the result of his unpacking, he walked downstairs and smiled, sighing briefly at the sight awaiting for his return.

An empty lounge.

A place he would enjoy all by himself for Christmas.

Alone. (And unlovable and incapable of love, shouted a traitorous voice in the back of his mind.)

But Christmas in Tadfield, nonetheless.

The fact that he was keeping his promise to his mother meant the world to him, so he opted to leave those kinds of miserable thoughts aside, for now.

Feeling a bit peckish, he remembered that Beez had put some leftovers for him in the fridge.

Aziraphale’s eyes twinkled when he saw a casserole dish filled with lasagna, one of his favorite foods.

Maybe eating heated lasagna wasn’t like dining at the Ritz (Aziraphale definitely wanted to try and make a reservation at the famous restaurant, seeing that he really wanted to visit London during his stay), however, the late lunch gave him enough strength to decide how he wanted to spend the rest of the afternoon.

Apparently, Beez was a fan of beer, as a short visit to the cellar had made obvious. But Aziraphale had better taste than that, or at least he thought so. He’d never liked beer and he wouldn’t start now just because he was in England, he had standards. So he would visit Tracy’s shop to buy himself some wine. And later, he would spend a lonely night in front of the fireplace. And who knew, if jet-lag didn’t catch up with him too soon, he may also be able to finish reading The Count.

🎄🎄🎄

When Aziraphale left the cottage, he followed the signs leading to the town centre, taking his time to observe the scenery.

Bluebell Lodge was surrounded by fields, and it wasn’t too far from the residential area. It took him less than half an hour to reach the shop.

Aziraphale wasn’t really surprised at the realisation that he couldn’t remember much of the town: even if he’d lived in Tadfield when he was a kid, he was only five when they had moved to the States.

He didn’t even remember where they had lived, but he was fairly certain that his mother’s house was located somewhere in the country, probably not that far from Bluebell Lodge.

Aziraphale noticed with pleasure that the town was adorned with Christmas decorations. A huge tree dominated the Main Square and all the shops’ windows were embellished with garlands and Christmas lights. Aziraphale’s heart filled with nostalgia when he thought about his mother and how fond she was of this holiday. She would have been so happy to be here with him for Christmas.

Aziraphale tried to put himself together before getting inside the shop where a sweet lady with flaming orange hair was serving clients behind a cashier.

“Hello, luv,” she greeted him.

“Hello.” Aziraphale smiled at her.

He took a basket and began collecting various items from shelves and counters. He also took five bottles of wine, figuring it would be more than enough for him during his stay. It wasn’t like he knew anybody in Tadfield to drink it with, anyway.

He queued behind a woman at the till and then extended his basket to the cashier.

“Never seen you around here, luv. Are you a tourist?” she asked, checking out every item in the basket.

“I’m visiting. I’m staying at Bluebell Lodge.”

“Oh, so you must be a friend of Beez’?”

“Not really a friend. We just exchanged houses for Christmas,” Aziraphale revealed.

“You wot?!”

“They left yesterday, they’re in New Heaven.”

“I can’t believe this,” the woman said. “I saw them yesterday morning after breakfast!”

“Our flights were scheduled for the late afternoon,” Aziraphale explained. “I just got here myself. I’m Aziraphale Eastgate, by the way.”

“Enchanted. Name’s Tracy.”

“That, I figured.” Aziraphale chuckled.

The woman giggled, too. “I like you, luv. If you need anything, just ask.”

“Thank you, that’s very kind,” he replied, sincerely.

He wasn’t used to that level of kindness back at home, not even with people he’d met more than once on campus.

“Geez, I still can’t believe Beez left like that. I wonder if they told their brother.”

Tracy had just checked out the last item.

“They have a brother?” Aziraphale asked, taking out his wallet.

“You didn’t know?”

“Uhm, no. But we didn’t really have a chance to get to know each other, it was all so sudden and… unexpected,” Aziraphale confessed, giving her his credit card to pay the bill.

“But you’re glad to be here. I can sense it. Your soul is at peace.”

“My– my soul?”

“You’ll find out soon that not only Madame Tracy is the most attractive vendor in town,” Aziraphale chuckled at that, “I’m also the one and only medium around here.”

“A medium, uh?” Aziraphale asked, amused but also intrigued.

“Come back when you want me to read your cards.” Tracy winked at him.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Aziraphale smiled with pleasure.

🎄🎄🎄

After a quick dinner accompanied by a couple of glasses of a very good Merlot, Aziraphale lit the fire in his bedroom. He checked his correspondence and spent some time texting with Gabriel to be certain that Beez had reached his apartment safe and sound.

When he asked Gabriel if Beez was ok, his answer felt a bit rushed.

Aziraphale decided he would try and catch up with Beez in the next few days. Now he had a different goal: finishing the book.

(He fell asleep on the armchair.)

🎄🎄🎄

He woke up a couple of hours later. It was 11 PM, the fire had gone out and The Count was still waiting to take his revenge on his enemies.

Aziraphale picked up the book and the bottle of wine and went downstairs where the fire was still burning and welcoming. He prepared himself a cup of cocoa and resumed reading the book.

But Aziraphale was easily distracted that night.

For the first time in his whole life, he wasn’t in the mood to read.

Towards midnight, he decided to listen to some music.

Beez had a large CD collection and, surprisingly enough, Aziraphale recognised some of the names on the covers. He didn’t like the majority of that modern bebop, as he usually called it, but he could deal with some of it.

He sighed at the sight of a Queen Greatest Hits. Maybe it wasn’t the right time for that. He picked an easier option and put on the White Album, letting the Fab Four keep him company at least until 1 AM, when he decided to drink another glass of wine while cleaning up the archives stored on his laptop.

Aziraphale deleted all his photos with Rafe (not as many as he’d thought) and he also managed to change the desktop background with one of those space pictures that were so popular online. He didn’t even know which one he’d chosen, he just really liked the subject.

At half past one he decided to give reading another chance, this time sitting on the sofa, trying to focus on Edmond’s duel.

(He couldn’t.)

He didn’t know why he felt so restless. He wasn’t missing home and he was definitely not missing Rafe. And yet, he was suddenly experiencing a weird sensation of emptiness. Like he couldn’t concentrate on anything other than his insecurities and bad memories.

His mind went back to his argument with Rafe.

‘And when you’re here, it’s like you aren’t.’

Aziraphale had spent the last few years with a man he’d never really been in love with. Settling for a relationship that was stable but that never satisfied neither of them.

And if he thought this through, he had to admit that Rafe was right: it wasn’t just his fault if he’d eventually found some solace in the arms of another man. (Although, if he really thought this through, it wasn’t his fault if Rafe was a cheating bastard and Mr Morningstar was hot as hell.)

Was there something wrong with him? Why couldn’t he get attached to someone anymore? Was this a result of some kind of abandonment issue, because his father had left him when he was just a kid? Why couldn’t he open up to other people? Emotionally and… sometimes not even physically?

‘Like you didn’t belong there. Like you did it only to… indulge me.’

Maybe Rafe was right. Maybe he hadn’t tried hard enough. Maybe he should have been more understanding and… available for intimacy. (Even if intimacy meant having sex with a very handsome someone that he didn’t particularly like.)

Aziraphale rubbed his eyes and checked the clock. 2 AM.

He carefully closed his book and left it on the armchair. Reading was clearly not on, tonight, his mind didn’t let him. All he could think about was how he’d broken up with his partner, the man he’d thought he would be together with for the rest of his life (as unsatisfying as their relationship was).

For the first time in many years, Aziraphale realised that he was alone.

Extremely and alarmingly alone.

He felt the bizarre urge to turn on his laptop to seek for flights to get back home in the morning. Maybe following his instincts hadn’t been the most intelligent thing. He’d lost his way, he hadn’t been able to focus, blinded by the unfairness of the situation and the baggage of a promise made to his dying mother that he hadn’t been able to keep.

He couldn’t stay here. This trip had been a terrible mistake.

‘You’re not really the… adventurous type!’

And just when Gabriel’s words echoed in his mind, hurting like a knife in the back, he heard a knock on the door.

Chapter Text

Aziraphale was startled by the sharp noise coming from the other side of the door, interrupting his reveries about how sad his life had become.

The knock wasn’t too insistent, but it sounded like a specific pattern. As if the person punching on the solid oak door was making themselves recognisable.

Aziraphale slowly moved towards the entrance, listening carefully and waiting for something to happen when the person knocked again, repeating the same pattern.

“Beez! Open the door!”

Aziraphale was taken aback by the voice.

A definitely male voice that sounded a bit hoarse, almost scratchy. Oddly enough, Aziraphale was captivated by it at once, anticipating the moment he would match the voice to a face.

He reminded himself that whoever this man was, he was looking for Beez and was not expecting… him. He needed to gain more information about the stranger before letting him in.

Another knock, more insistent this time.

“Beez! Open the fucking door! I know you’re not asleep, your light is on. Where the fuck is the bloody key? It’s not in the flowerpot!”

That was enough information for Aziraphale to figure out that the man outside not only knew Beez, but also where they kept the spare key to the cottage. And judging by his tone, he was drunk. Well, maybe not properly drunk, just a bit tipsy.

Maybe Beez had a roommate? No, they would have mentioned it.

Maybe a friend that paid… late night hours calls?

“Beez, it’s me! Get down here and let me in, or I’m going to water your fucking plants, if you know what I mean!”

That was Aziraphale’s cue to open the door. And all the studying in the last twenty years wouldn’t have prepared him for the vision in front of him.

Standing outside was possibly the most handsome man Aziraphale had ever laid eyes on. Tall, redhaired (no, no, red was an understatement because Aziraphale had never seen such a nuance before, maybe magenta? But it’s lighter than magenta!), angular kissable cheekbones, very kissable thin lips (Oh god, where are all these thoughts coming from?) and… sunglasses. A ridiculous pair of dark lenses that shamefully covered the man’s eyes so that Aziraphale couldn’t distinguish their colour. And yet, he immediately realised that he wouldn’t need to actually see them, because the man’s eyebrows expressed his thoughts as if they had a life of their own.

For instance, right now Aziraphale could sense that the man was astonished to see him, at least as much as he was.

The stranger’s lips curved into a rakish smirk, and Aziraphale felt his lips part, suddenly and unexpectedly.

“You’re not Beez,” the nameless man simply stated, as if knocking on a friend’s door only to find a complete stranger was the most common thing in the world.

“Uhm, no, I believe I’m not.”

The man’s smirk grew even wider.

“Ghaaa… Sorry for the language, I wasn’t expecting…” Aziraphale’s eyes followed the man’s hands as he gestured. Beautiful long fingers were wiggling in the air as if the man was a magician performing a hypnosis trick on him. “Well, you.”

Out of nowhere, Aziraphale felt very self-conscious about his own appearance and the parquet floor became the most interesting thing in the room. Until that very second, he hadn’t realised that he hadn’t changed and he was still wearing his formal everyday attire.

His vintage clothes (a distinctive pair of beige trousers and his signature tailored waistcoat worn over a light blue shirt) were all wrinkled after the long day of travelling.

Good Lord, I am still wearing the clothes I had on the plane.

And of course he was so used to wearing it that he hadn’t removed his bowtie either, even if at some point during the night he’d managed to loosen it a bit.

Aziraphale loved his clothes, but he knew that his fashion choices were questionable to most and people often mocked him for the fact that he looked like a character from an early 1900s novel.

He suddenly remembered how he’d felt the day before under Morningstar’s unpleasant scrutiny. (It would probably take him a while to forget about his stare and the scornful smirk on his lips.)

When Aziraphale’s eyes finally left the floor to try and look at the stranger again (seriously, how could he fit into those tight jeans it was impossible to comprehend, even to a sharp mind like Aziraphale’s) he was delightfully surprised to notice that the smirk on this man’s face communicated a totally different sentiment compared to the one on Morningstar’s.

It didn’t feel like he was making fun of him; instead, the smirk easily morphed into a soft warm smile. If he hadn’t known better, Aziraphale would have thought this man was teasing him? As if he were… attracted to him?

Aziraphale shook his head, he was certainly imagining things. After all, it had been a while since he’d engaged in the subtle art of flirting.

And yet, he couldn’t stop himself when he replied to the man as if his brain wasn’t connected to his mouth. “I– I wasn’t expecting you either.”

It was the man’s turn to part his lips as he cocked his eyebrows at him, causing Aziraphale to let go of a breath he didn’t know he was holding. (Apparently, this encounter was rapidly turning into a parting-lips mess.)

The stranger shook his head as if trying to come back to his senses, too.

“Um… you think I could…” he pointed a finger beyond Aziraphale, who followed its direction and realised it was aiming for the bathroom.

“Sure!” he said, a little louder than he probably should have. He opened the door all the way to let him inside.

“I’m Crowley.”

When he realised that the name didn’t ring any bells for Aziraphale, he spoke again. “Beez’ brother.”

Aziraphale’s mouth turned into a perfect “o” as he remembered his conversation with Tracy. She’d mentioned that Beez had a brother, hadn’t she?

Crowley extended his hand to shake Aziraphale’s (in the most common way to introduce oneself to someone new, but lingering a little too long in a most uncommon way), then he excused himself and walked past him to lock himself in the bathroom.

The brief contact between their hands had been enough to leave Aziraphale discombobulated.

Good Lord, why?

There he was, Aziraphale Eastgate, the professor who avoided human presence and even more human touch if not strictly necessary.

And yet this man, this total… stranger… had unpredictably stirred something deep inside him, just by shaking his hand.

He tried to calm down while waiting for Crowley (such an uncommon cute name, and Aziraphale wasn’t attracted to it, at all) to come back from the loo. When he heard the click of the door opening, he automatically turned around not to give the impression he’d been checking on what the man was doing in the bathroom.

“I assume you’re the one who’s taken the spare key, then?” Crowley asked, his attitude and language completely changed compared to his former rude approach.

“Oh, yes. I’m sorry for the inconvenience.”

Crowley smiled again. “Nothing to worry about, Mr–”

He was waiting for a reply, and Aziraphale knew how to use words, didn’t he?

He was a renowned professor of Comparative Literature and English, it wasn’t so hard to put a sentence together, was it? Moreover, a sentence that only required him to say his name.

“I’m Aziraphale. Eastgate.”

“Well, that is a mouthful.”

Crowley used a hand to rub his chin. Aziraphale had never felt envious of somebody else’s body part, before. (There was always a first time for everything, apparently.)

Crowley let out a chuckle, startling Aziraphale. “I’m sorry. It’s just that… Beez never mentioned you and–”

“Oh, I’ve been terribly rude, I apologize.”

Tracy had been right: Beez hadn’t told anyone about their departure, not even their brother.

“Beez enlisted Bluebell Lodge on a Home Exchange website. I found their ad and we agreed to switch houses.”

Crowley now looked incredulous, almost pissed. “You’re kidding, right? This is a joke and… Beez are you upstairs?” he shouted.

“I’m fairly certain this isn’t a joke, otherwise being here would be a total waste of time.”

This remark earned him a smile from Crowley, but only for a second.

“You didn’t know about the ad? On holidaycottages.com?”

“Of course, I knew about it, but I thought this was just… one of Beez’ insane ideas! I knew they were trying to move on after that fucking bastard left them, but switching houses with a total stranger, what the fuck were they thinking?” Crowley monologued while pacing the lounge, rapidly moving from one corner to the other.

“You don’t need to worry. They made it to New Haven just fine, I heard from them and my brother Gabriel, he’s taken care of their accommodation in my house.”

Crowley’s expression was now more than incredulous. “New Haven? As in Connecticut?”

“You know your geography,” Aziraphale confirmed, trying to keep the tone of the conversation in familiar and polite territory. He didn’t want to upset Crowley, who was clearly worried for his sibling.

“So, Beez is in the States. I can’t fucking believe this. I mean, I knew they hated Christmas, but I never thought they would leave the fucking country to avoid celebrating!”

“Seems like a common pattern around here,” Aziraphale conceded, obviously thinking about himself.

“Right, I’m sorry.” Crowley now looked a bit more relaxed. “So, people actually do these… switches?”

“I wouldn’t know about people. But we did.”

“Because…”

Aziraphale sighed deeply. “Let’s just say we probably both needed a change of scenery.”

And that was all he was ready to admit tonight. Crowley might be the personification of beauty itself, the most fabulous creature Aziraphale had ever seen. But this man didn’t know him, and he wouldn’t spill his guts to a total stranger.

“Ok.”

Crowley was showing signs of imbalance. He was making a visible effort to remain standing, now that the shock at the news about his sibling was wearing off.

“Do you mind if I sit? I feel… like I could bump into you at any moment,” he confessed.

“Sure, sure, silly me. Please, have a seat, wherever you feel more comfortable, obviously.”

As he stood by the entrance and watched Crowley dragging himself towards the sofa, Aziraphale could swear he’d heard him say something along the lines of “obviously” in a mocking tone.

“Should I make some tea?” he asked his guest.

“Coffee.”

Crowley’s reply gave him pause as he went to the kitchen. Aziraphale hadn’t had time to get acquainted with the house yet. He had no idea where the coffee was.

As if he was reading his mind, Crowley’s voice came from the lounge. “Coffee machine’s on the counter, pods in the first drawer.”

Aziraphale smiled to himself, still too enthralled by the weird turn his night had taken to actually stop and think about the consequences of Crowley’s visit.

Using the coffee machine was more intuitive than he would have thought. He didn’t manage to find a cup, though, so he served it inside a huge rainbow mug.

“Couldn’t find a coffee cup, I’m sorry.”

“It’s ok,” Crowley said, drinking the coffee in one gulp. “Much better.”

Crowley put the mug on the table and decided to interrupt the uncomfortable deafening silence in the room with an apology.

“’m sorry to intrude like that. I swear I had no idea about this… exchange thing, I wouldn’t have popped up.”

“Oh, it doesn’t matter, really–”

“I know it may not seem like it, but I really am Beez’ respectable big brother.”

“You don’t say,” Aziraphale quipped, more to himself than to Crowley.

“But,” and Crowley stressed out the ‘t’. “On the not so rare occasion that I go into town and get overly wasted at the Dirty Donkey, Beez lets me sleep on the sofa, so I don’t have to get behind the wheel to go home.”

“You live far?” Aziraphale asked and immediately bit his bottom lip, scolding himself for his curiosity. Totally improper. (And unprecedented. Aziraphale usually didn’t waste time in pleasantries with people he’d met mere minutes earlier. Misanthrope, remember?)

“Tadfield Manor. It’s not that far, but it’s an hour walk from town,” Crowley explained. “Knowing how I drive, Beez would rather have me here than in my Bentley.”

Crowley chuckled with a snort when a memory suddenly came to him. “This one time we were out together, and they hid my keys. Threatened to never give ‘em back. The kindness of their heart, I swear.”

Aziraphale had felt his heart explode at that chuckle.

(Oh, he was getting into trouble.)

“Anyway, I know it’s a pathetic explanation, but I promise it’s true. ‘m certainly up to no good, but this has nothing to do with you being here.” Crowley sighed. “Oh, and I’m sorry I woke you.”

Aziraphale shook his head. “Don’t worry about that, I was up, I couldn’t sleep.”

“Jetlag a bitch, eh?”

“Not really, no. It’s just–” Aziraphale smiled sadly. “I just have a lot on my mind lately.”

“Like finding the best way to get even with the conte de Morcerf?” Crowley wondered.

Shockingly enough, Aziraphale didn’t catch up immediately. “Beg your pardon?”

Crowley nodded at the book on the armchair. “You know, The Count of Monte Cristo?”

“Oh!” Aziraphale grinned. “Yes, of course.”

He let out a nervous chuckle. Most people around him didn’t use literary references to talk with him. This felt… new, nice, and–

Good Lord, I’m excited.

Crowley was smiling to himself, looking like he was thinking about something he wouldn’t dare to say. Aziraphale felt his cheeks burn and wondered if they’d gotten pink, like they did when something embarrassed him or (worse) excited him.

Oh god, please don’t let me blush in front of him.

Easier said than done, given how intrigued Crowley looked as he gazed intently at him.

He also couldn’t help but notice that Crowley’s cheeks seemed pinker, too. Maybe the room was too warm? Or maybe it was because Crowley was still wearing his black coat, as a matter of fact.

“So, how’s it going so far? This… exchange thing.” Crowley gestured again and Aziraphale took a mental note that this was probably his way of expressing himself. (A very physical way.)

“Well–”

“I mean, before I showed up to spoil your evening,” said Crowley with a smirk.

Oh good, that smirk again. I could spontaneously combust right here and now. I hope someone finds an urn to put my ashes in.

“It’s… I was glad when I got here this afternoon. I walked to town, bought something at Tracy’s.”

“She offered to read your cards already?” Crowley asked, taking the chance to show off his knowledge of the people of Tadfield.

Aziraphale smiled. “She did, in fact. It was a fascinating encounter.”

“Sure.” Crowley grinned.

Aziraphale waited a couple of seconds before continuing, his breath still irregular every time he saw Crowley’s lips turning into something different than a serious expression.

“Then tonight I was here on my own, I couldn’t sleep and… I mean, it’s not… I’m not quite myself right now. Getting here was something like a– a – a spur-of-the-moment thing. I broke up with my partner and I felt I wanted to keep a promise I made–” Aziraphale stopped, noticing that he was revealing much more than he should have. “And I don’t know why I’m telling you all this, I’m so sorry.”

Crowley leaned in, getting closer to him on the sofa. “Don’t worry about it. Sometimes it’s easier to spill your guts with a total stranger, eh?”

Aziraphale looked at Crowley, his smile warmer and more welcoming than before. He wished he could see his eyes under those sunglasses, but he had the distinct feeling that if the man was wearing them at 2 AM in the morning, he must have his reasons. He wouldn’t be the idiot asking why after a fifteen-minute conversation.

“I suppose you’re right,” he agreed.

“So, seeing that we’re both not that exhausted to sleep, fancy a cup of tea? Or something stronger?”

“I should be the one making the honors. I’ll be the host for the next ten days, you know,” Aziraphale quipped.

“A host that isn’t very familiar with his surroundings.”

“Touché,” Aziraphale conceded as an amused grin appeared on his lips. “But I must tell you, I already found the cellar. And there’s an open bottle of Merlot I haven’t been able to finish by myself.”

“Oh. Sounds promising.”

They both moved towards the kitchen to fetch glasses and wine.

“So, about your name…”

“I know,” Aziraphale automatically answered. “I’ll spell it for you. A-ZIR-A-PHALE.”

Crowley chuckled. “I know how to spell your name, you ridiculous man. I was just fascinated by it. Your parents liked angel mythology?”

Aziraphale was struck by the revelation that not only did Crowley know his name, he also knew where it came from.

“You know that I’m named after an angel mentioned in the Buggre Alle This Bible?” his eyes grew wide.

Crowley just shrugged. “I imagine everybody does, don’t they?” he said, like it was nothing special. Like it wasn’t the first time in Aziraphale’s life that someone, anyone had recognised the name his mother had chosen for him with such love and devotion. (Talking about those levels of excitement, they were getting disproportionately out of scale. Especially for a man who hadn’t experienced excitement for a while.)

“No, not really… they don’t spot it, ever. And I feel like–” Aziraphale stopped his train of thought, afraid he would let something slip again, and he wasn’t sure he liked feeling so vulnerable around this gorgeous human being. “Whatever, it doesn’t matter. It’s just tickety-boo.”

Crowley smiled again as he mouthed ’tickety-boo’ without emitting a sound. Aziraphale blushed, and this time he couldn’t really help it. He drank his glass of wine to try and ease the tension.

“So, you were saying, you’re not romantically involved with anybody–”

“Anymore,” Aziraphale pointed out.

“Anymore, yet, these are just adverbs, aren’t they?” Crowley said, his tone of voice lower (and warmer) than ever.

Aziraphale tried to swallow, finding his mouth suddenly dry.

“So, would it be that horrible if I stayed for the night?” Crowley asked, hope clearly discernible in his question. “I’ll be gone before you even wake up, you won’t have to lay eyes on me ever again, angel.”

Aziraphale stared at him in disbelief. Did Crowley just call him angel? Was he mocking him for the origin of his name? It didn’t feel like it, though. Especially when he noticed Crowley biting his lip and mouthing something that oddly looked like a ‘fuck’ to himself.

“I’m sorry, that was totally uncalled for. I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable,” he tried to apologise.

“Oh, no, it’s just that… There was only one person who called me that, and– well, they are not here anymore, and it was just… unexpected, that’s all. I enjoyed it, actually,” Aziraphale confessed, trying to keep the most intimate details to himself.

Crowley’s smile in response to that revelation could have lit the whole town of Tadfield by itself. Aziraphale blushed again, and this time he definitely noticed that he wasn’t the only one.

“And to answer you, yes,” Aziraphale went on, trying to change the topic. “You can stay for the night, I guess Beez wouldn’t like it if I chased away their brother from their house.”

“I don’t know about that. They like it when people are bad with me. ‘s a bit of the sadistic kind, my sibling.”

“Does it run in the family?” Aziraphale asked, this time intending to flirt with the incomprehensibly handsome man. (And where was this primal necessity even coming from? First the lips parting, then the Dumas-induced excitement and now the flirting?)

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Crowley purred back.

Aziraphale gasped, incoherent thoughts running through his mind. He still didn’t understand if it was because of the wine, or his loneliness, or the jet-lag, or simply for the fact that this man was making him feel things like he hadn’t in years. Maybe all of the above. He was drawn to Crowley like a moth to a flame. (A very hot flame.)

“Let me just get you a blanket,” he almost whispered.

“Beez keeps something for me in that cupboard over there.”

“Oh, yes, again with the inept host,” Aziraphale quipped back. He felt almost disappointed not to have the chance to see Crowley’s expression after his joke.

He found a blanket and a pillow and threw them on the sofa, then he took his book. He was ready to leave Crowley on his own, eager to find a distraction.

Maybe, if he retired to his room, enveloped under layers of blankets and with the safety of a floor separating the two of them, it would be easier not to think about the marvelous creature sleeping downstairs.

“Thank you,” Crowley said.

“You don’t need to thank me, really. And I’m sorry for being here tonight. You were expecting a familiar face and you found me. How disappointing.”

Crowley’s expression changed as he moved to close the gap between them. Aziraphale’s throat suddenly felt like fire and his heartbeat quickened.

“Disappointing is not the first word that comes to my mind when I think of you appearing at the other side of the door,” Crowley murmured, leaning forward so that his lips were almost touching Aziraphale’s, who could feel the other man’s warm breath on his face, tantalizing as nothing ever before.

He swallowed again, but his mouth was still completely dry.

“I– I– I bid you adieu, then,” Aziraphale blurted out the first thing that came to his mind.

“Goodnight, angel,” Crowley answered, leaning over to kiss him.

Almost routinely, like this was something they did on a regular basis.

Aziraphale didn’t have a chance to move or talk, he didn’t even close his eyes. All he could do was just stay there and enjoy the sensation of Crowley’s lips on his. It wasn’t anything more than a soft peck. A long one, to be fair. But it felt good. Fabulous, even.

It made Aziraphale’s world collapse on itself at the mere realisation that after one little kiss from Crowley he would probably beg in Latin, if it meant he could savour more.

(Something he’d never felt with anyone. Not with Daniel, let alone with Rafe, who always found Latin dull.)

When Aziraphale felt that all the excitement of this encounter was starting to show in his trousers with very inappropriate physical evidence (an embarrassingly huge one, to be fair), he wondered if a person could die of arousal.

“Sweet dreams.”

Crowley was doing it, again. That smirk.

Oh, it will be the death of me.

“Could you… you think you–” Aziraphale cleared his throat, and he knew he was blushing like a teenager in front of his school crush. “Would you mind… trying that again, please?”

Crowley’s smugness was so evident on his face that Aziraphale wouldn’t need for him to take off his glasses to recognise it. This time, Crowley put his right hand on Aziraphale’s neck, his fingers gently stroking the softness under his chin to keep him in place as he kissed him delicately.

This time, Aziraphale closed his eyes and could barely contain his happiness when he recognised the shadow of a grin crossing Crowley’s lips as they slowly broke off the kiss. Maybe he was doing this right, even if it had been a while since he’d kissed someone so passionately (the last kisses he’d shared with Rafe paled in comparison).

Aziraphale opened his eyes again and straightened immediately, putting his trembling fingers on his mouth. He couldn’t believe this was happening to him.

What was he even thinking, kissing Crowley like that and finding this unexpected situation so exhilarating?

Seeing the crossed expression on Aziraphale’s face, Crowley asked, “That bad?”

“No, no, that was… uhm… that was good, that was very good,” Aziraphale reassured him, still pacing around the room.

“So what?” Crowley insisted, a wicked smirk firm on his lips.

“It was… weird, you know? Kissing a total stranger.”

Crowley scoffed. “Is that all? I do it all the time!”

Aziraphale tried to ignore the little pang of jealousy at the abrupt realisation that this man was probably the most wanted bachelor in Tadfield (but was he single? Too caught up with all the smooching, Aziraphale hadn’t even remembered to ask).

He could picture a typical evening in town, Crowley finding the best companion for the night and bestowing him (her? them?) with kisses, and then maybe they would shag and– oh my god don’t go there!

And yet, tonight Aziraphale was the lucky one who had found himself at the mercy of this gorgeous human being. He didn’t know anything about Crowley, but one thing: he couldn’t miss the chance to feel for the first time in his dull life.

Probably annoyed by him moving around, Crowley stopped his movements by taking Aziraphale’s wrist in his hands. The touch was so soft and gentle that Aziraphale stopped in his tracks to look at their now entwined hands. Crowley nodded almost imperceptibly, inviting Aziraphale to sit down next to him on the sofa. Aziraphale indulged him.

“Maybe if–” he raised a trembling hand to touch Crowley’s face, but he stopped when he noticed the other man wincing, realising that he was probably crossing a boundary without permission.

Crowley understood his intentions, because his breath became faster, too.

Was it… uneasiness? Fear?

“May I?” Aziraphale asked, almost begging. He didn’t need to be more specific, and there was no intention from either of them to make his request explicit.

When Crowley nodded his consent, Aziraphale raised his hand again, his fingers reaching for Crowley’s sunglasses. When Aziraphale took them, Crowley lowered his gaze in what could only be read as a self-defense mechanism. And with that simple act of avoidance, Crowley made Aziraphale understand that maybe, underneath that cocky armor, there was a hidden baggage.

There was no time to investigate further, because Crowley immediately regained his composure and looked him straight in the eye. A pair of blue-grey eyes met stunning amber-hazel irises for the first time, and the walls that Aziraphale had built around his heart in the last few years began to crumble.

“Let me…” Crowley said, his voice almost breaking. Aziraphale nodded rapidly and closed his eyes again. He felt Crowley’s lips trace a path from his closed eyelids to the sensitive spot behind his ears. Before he could react, he was begging for more and his own lips parted in anticipation as the other man kissed him full on the mouth. Aziraphale moaned when he felt Crowley’s tongue parting his lips, looking for better access.

He could absolutely say that he’d never been kissed like that before.

When the kiss ended, it took him a few seconds to put together a meaningful sentence.

“Ok, that was… uhm…”

“Tickety-boo?” Crowley asked, reminding Aziraphale that he had been listening before.

“Yes, totally. And you know, erm… given that… erm… as I already mentioned I’m in the middle of a crisis, just broken up with my partner and all that stuff, and– and… I’m in this cottage that belongs to a person I’ve never even met, in a town I hadn’t visited for years…”

At this, Crowley looked at him with sudden curiosity, and it was good to see the range of emotions his eyes managed to express when they weren’t covered by the dark lenses. But he didn’t interrupt, clearly wanting to let Aziraphale vent all his thoughts.

“And now you’ve showed up, and you’re like… preposterously good looking and I believe you’re also drunk and I’m pretty sure you won’t even remember my name tomorrow…”

Aziraphale tried to ignore Crowley’s reaction to his rant, intending to put it away for eventual further evaluation.

“What I’m trying to say is that… we could have sex. If you are amenable.”

Crowley looked at him as if Aziraphale was an answer to his prayers. And that was a completely new feeling for Aziraphale, who’d never witnessed a man looking at him like that. As if he was ready to devour him.

The hungry expression on Crowley’s face transfigured into a smug one.

“Totally amenable, big fan of amenable, me. Fantastic idea.”

Aziraphale wasn’t sure if Crowley was taking him seriously.

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.” Crowley stared at him with a predatory smile on his face. “Dead fucking serious.”

Aziraphale fidgeted with his hands, like he always did when he was anxious or tense.

“I should also say that… I’ve never acted like this before. It’s not that I planned this, of course–”

“How could you, you didn’t even know I existed until twenty minutes ago.”

Crowley sounded too condescending as he started playing with the buttons of Aziraphale’s waistcoat. He opened the first one almost distractedly, like the garment was his plaything.

“And I know we don’t know each other, and you’re drunk–”

“Yep, already mentioned that. You’re repeating yourself.” Crowley undid another button.

“And maybe the fact that I won’t ever see you again is making this whole affair much more exciting than it’s supposed to be, right? Isn’t it like… the mantra of any good holiday vacation, do the unexpected?”

“Yeah, I really would like you to do the unexpected,” Crowley agreed, opening the last button of the waistcoat without batting an eye.

Aziraphale chuckled. “And you’re funny, I mean, you come with the complete package.”

Crowley stopped his ministrations for two seconds and Aziraphale thought he had crossed a line with the last sentence. Was that too much?

He got his answer when Crowley leaned back and exploded in a loud cackle, his hoarse voice like music to his ears. He could see the other man’s perfect jawline, in this position.

“You’re a bit of a bastard, aren’t you, angel?” Crowley said when he stopped laughing.

“I wouldn’t really know, am I?”

Crowley was a bit taken aback, but he apparently suspended further judgement. “So, we have an arrangement of sorts?” Crowley asked, probably looking for reassurance.

“Afraid you’re going to regret this tomorrow?”

“Nope, afraid you are.”

Aziraphale chuckled. “My dear, I don’t think there’s anything at all that would make me regret this.”

“Ok, feels like we’ve been talking for six thousand years. Are we doing this arrangement thing or not?” Crowley asked, showing a certain level of eagerness that Aziraphale hadn’t expected.

“You’ve got yourself a deal.”

Crowley leaned in to kiss him again as his hands managed to unceremoniously slide the waistcoat off Aziraphale’s shoulders.

Suddenly, Aziraphale felt the urge to point out something, just to be totally and blatantly honest.

“Also, I should probably warn you… I’m not very good with… the act.”

Crowley was already smirking in response. “The act being…”

“Uhm… the sex thing.”

“Ok. This is the stupidest thing I’ve heard tonight. And I should know, seeing that I said every other single stupid thing, tonight.”

Aziraphale started fidgeting with his hands again. “See, I know I’m not particularly attractive–”

“Aaaaand I was wrong before,” Crowley interrupted him. “This is the stupidest thing I’ve heard tonight. No, not only tonight. Ever.”

Aziraphale blushed. Could this man be cuter than this?

“Well, my ex-partner, the one I mentioned before… one of the reasons we broke up is that he considered me to be… not very good at– at the sex thing. He mentioned it once or twice, and… well, he cheated on me also because he felt that sex with us wasn’t that good. Maybe especially because of that.”

‘Which I can totally relate to’, Aziraphale thought but didn’t say.

Crowley pondered his next words for a moment and Aziraphale feared that he’d been too honest and he’d probably lost his chance.

“If you want to call this off, I completely understand.”

Once again, Crowley’s reaction wasn’t what Aziraphale had expected.

“What about you? Did you like sex with him?”

Aziraphale was embarrassed, but he managed to answer sincerely. “I suppose I didn’t.”

He lowered his eyes, looking at his hands. He was frantically playing with the ring on his pinky. Crowley placed his fingers under Aziraphale’s chin to lift it up so that he could look at him.

“Do you… usually… ngk… enjoy sex?”

“You mean on my own?”

Crowley rolled his eyes, but a pleased little blush was colouring his cheeks as his lips tugged up at the corners. “Let’s say on your own.”

Aziraphale nodded.

“What about with your other partners?”

Aziraphale kept toying with his ring. His thoughts went back to Rafe, to Daniel, to his few past dalliances. “Uhm… yes. When I’m doing it with the right person I–”

Aziraphale stopped, feeling a little too self-conscious.

“You?”

Then he remembered that he was on vacation, looking for adventure, and he was about to do the unexpected. A little cheekiness wouldn’t certainly spoil the mood.

He smirked, trying to keep up with the flirting. “One may say I can be a sex-enthusiast, when I’m doing it with the right person.” Never mind he’d met only one of those so-called ‘right people’ in his entire life. Crowley didn’t need to know.

Crowley blushed again and it was so worth it. Aziraphale felt very proud of himself.

“Nghh… uhm… ok.” Crowley cleared his throat. “So, one may assume that if you did not enjoy it with your ex, it’s because you weren’t with the right person?”

Aziraphale was fascinated by Crowley’s conclusion. Which led to more excitement. (Apparently he really had a problem keeping it in his pants when someone bewitched him with a thought-provoking syllogism.)

“You think so?”

“I know so,” which felt like Crowley’s last word on this matter.

Crowley had just voiced out something that Aziraphale had been wondering only of lately, but that maybe was a truth about himself he’d needed to find out. And he felt incredibly relieved at the realisation that maybe the thought he’d been developing since the breakup was right, and he’d never craved to get into bed with Rafe because he wasn’t the right person for him in the first place. He’d never felt a spark of interest before sleeping with him, something that lit up a sense of connection, of complicity.

With Crowley, on the other hand… he’d felt attracted to him as soon as he’d seen him at the door, sure. But it wasn’t just his physical appearance (good Lord, those sinful hips would haunt his dreams for the rest of his days), it was also his brilliant mind that intrigued Aziraphale.

(‘Like finding the best way to get even with the conte de Morcerf?’)

(‘Your parents liked angel mythology?’)

No wonder he wanted to have sex with him.

(And here he was, telling him about his ex who’d accused him of being bad at it.)

“I talked you out of it, didn’t I?” Aziraphale asked.

Crowley’s expression was so soft that Aziraphale almost melted.

“No. Not at all. You should know that the complete package comes with a satisfied or refunded policy,” Crowley slid one finger between Aziraphale’s bowtie strap and his neck, playing with it. “I’m going to blow your mind, angel.”

Crowley’s eyes were now darker, his pupils black and dilated with desire. In a breathtakingly slow movement, Crowley stood up from the sofa, holding out his hand to Aziraphale. “Let me take care of you,” he said.

Feeling the excitement growing in every cell of his body (especially the most excitable ones) Aziraphale took Crowley’s hand without ever losing eye contact.

But unexpectedly enough, it wasn’t Crowley who was leading them towards the bedroom. Aziraphale anticipated him, walking backwards, facing Crowley as if his life depended on it.

All this without ever letting go of his hand.

“Your ex was a dickhead,” Crowley continued, following Aziraphale into the dark corridor leading to the stairs.

“Probably. But I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for him.”

“Can I hear a wahoo?” Crowley’s smirk was back, and it was driving him mad.

‘I’m in so much trouble,’ was Aziraphale’s last coherent thought before entering the bedroom upstairs.

Chapter Text

When he woke up around eight, feeling comforted and satisfied as never before in his life, the first thought that came to Aziraphale’s mind was that he’d probably died and gone to heaven. Like a proper angel.

(Seriously, he felt like he was bouncing on a cloud.)

The moment he noticed the slim silhouette with impossibly long legs spread in the other half of the bed (his bed), Aziraphale was suddenly flooded with memories of the night before.

Crowley.

He was enveloped by a mix of incredulity and fondness as his eyes roamed over the perfect naked body lying close to him.

Crowley wasn’t nice, or at least that’s what he’d told Aziraphale last night as he carefully reproached him with a bite to his thigh for calling him that, and yet there was something fundamentally nice in this picture. Something that felt incredibly and surprisingly right.

A soft smile graced Crowley’s lips as if he was having the best of dreams. His stylishly short red hair looked so disheveled now, as Aziraphale remembered spending the majority of their time last night with his hands touching and pulling on the red strands (at least when his fingers weren’t otherwise occupied gripping sinful hips and arsecheeks, surprising even himself with his craving for touch).

The snake tattoo on Crowley’s shoulder was almost twinkling under the first rays of sunshine (no, Aziraphale had never liked tattoos before and yes, he’d probably unlocked a new kink).

The sunglasses had been long forgotten on the bedside table, adding to a vulnerability that had no right to feel so right between two people having a night of sex, no strings attached. Aziraphale knew that what had happened between them had just been a one-night stand, he knew that Crowley would wake up and miracle himself out of the cottage (and out of his life) with a snap of his fingers, like the… demon he was.

A demon indeed, because he’d held such power over Aziraphale for a night that he would never forget.

With a tender smile plastered on his face, Aziraphale took his tartan pajamas (which he’d never gotten a chance to wear, for obvious reasons) from the drawer. Feeling a bit chilly, he also put on his robe. Before going downstairs, he glanced one last time at the fabulous work of art that had just shifted his position on the bed, just enough to reveal the shape of his awakening–

Aziraphale licked his lips at the sight, still not completely sure of what was happening to him and why all of a sudden he felt such a lustful drive for a man he’d just met. (Even if said man had been enticing him with literary references all night, and then he’d made Aziraphale his pet project, making him feel good with himself, murmuring soothing words and compliments while nibbling teasingly at his earlobes.)

Aziraphale needed to keep himself busy if he didn’t want to go nuts. (The fact he’d never felt like this with Rafe was still impossibly irritating.)

Ok, do something. Breakfast. Make breakfast. You’re hungry, Crowley will be hungry, too, after all the efforts… No! Don’t go there again!

The problem was, Aziraphale couldn’t help but picture it all in his mind. Again and again. And this was new. And exciting. This… melting inside at the mere thought of what had transpired between him and Crowley.

Twenty-four hours ago he didn’t think that sex could be like this. That it was possible to feel a physical connection so strong and special with another human being. To be fair, Crowley had promised that he would take care of Aziraphale and he’d jokingly told him that he came with a ‘satisfied or refunded policy’.

(If that was what Crowley meant for ‘satisfied’, then he’d marvelously succeed, meeting all his client’s needs.)

Because now Aziraphale knew that sex with another person could be like this. Maybe he hadn’t been starving for that sort of human touch before, but right now, for whatever reason, he found himself wanting a very specific someone’s touch. Crowley’s.

And wasn’t that a ridiculous thought to entertain about a man he’d met just six hours earlier?

Aziraphale turned the kettle on and prepared the espresso machine (obviously hoping that Crowley wouldn’t leave before breakfast, which was just as silly and pathetic as it sounded), then he took some bread from a cabinet and butter from the fridge. He also found jam and cider.

But as much as he kept himself occupied, his mind kept wandering to a few hours before, when Crowley’s hands were all over him.

It felt almost surreal if compared to his indifferent reaction to walking in on Rafe and Morningstar. Flashes of his encounter with Crowley kept resurfacing in his mind, triggering waves of arousal that Aziraphale did not want to shy away from.

Crowley’s mouth saying filthy things in a sultry voice only seconds before taking his cock down his throat.

Crowley’s tongue twirling just so, pushing Aziraphale over the brink as he made him come in a very undignified whimper (a noise that he almost didn’t recognise as coming from him).

Crowley’s voice calling him angel all over again while he jerked himself off, moaning the pet name like a prayer against his collarbone when he had come on top of him, painting his belly with white warm stripes. ‘As an artist adding the final touches to an initial sketch’ had been Aziraphale’s very decadent afterthought in his post-coital state of bliss. Or the obscene signature on a finished work.

Aziraphale felt the urge to drink some water; he seriously needed to rehydrate because just remembering was causing his mouth to get dry.

Especially the thought of Crowley’s tongue cleaning up the mess he’d just made.

(Aziraphale had never seen a tongue doing such wicked things in his entire life. It was quite accomplished.)

‘Let me take care of you’, Crowley had repeated to him.

And Aziraphale had let him, enamoured with the wonderful man who’d made him feel so good, probably for the first time in his life.

And now the memory of him licking his own… away from his belly… Good Lord, it was enough to make Aziraphale hard in his pants, and a stiffy wasn’t a dignified way to start a well-mannered breakfast conversation).

Aziraphale almost decided to close himself in the bathroom for what was expected to be a very quick wank to solve his, uhm, problem, when he heard Crowley coming down the stairs humming Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy.

His heart jumped.

I’d like for you and I to go romancing
Say the word, your wish is my command

Completely unprepared for the revelation that Crowley could sing (a Queen song, and he is so good!), Aziraphale tried to regain some control over his breath.

Hey, boy, where did you go?
I learned my passion in the good old-fashioned school of lover boys

Aziraphale turned around to find Crowley leaning casually against the doorframe, wearing only his black jeans (unbuttoned). The sunglasses were hiding his eyes again, but not the extremely playful and smug smile that appeared on his face as soon as he stopped singing.

“Morning, angel.”

Aziraphale let go of the longest breath of his life before answering with a quiet, “Good morning.”

Crowley was toying with his black shirt, and Aziraphale wondered, ‘Why, why be such a tease and not wear it before getting downstairs?’

Crowley certainly knew how to drive a man crazy, didn’t he?

“Coffee?” he promptly asked.

“Sure,” Crowley replied, beginning the excruciatingly slow process of putting his shirt on. He took his mobile from the back pocket of his jeans and put it on the table. Aziraphale noticed that he’d decided to leave the shirt tantalizingly unbuttoned.

He’s teasing me again, right? I’m not imagining things.

Aziraphale was shaking now, having difficulties doing the easiest things.

“Uhm… I did this yesterday, ahhh…”

With two steps, Crowley was right beside him, moving his hands so that his fingers landed on his on the espresso machine.

“Here you go,” he whispered in Aziraphale’s ear as he helped him operate the machine.

“Thank you, erm… how silly, I– I couldn’t find the right switch,” Aziraphale chuckled nervously.

Crowley’s voice became a soft murmur, “I’m always amenable to help you find the right switch, angel.”

Aziraphale’s face turned redder than Crowley’s hair.

Ok, that was definitely teasing.

How was he supposed to forget what had transpired between them when Crowley went around looking like that?

“Uhm… so… you want to eat something?” he managed to ask.

Crowley shook his head. “I don’t really like eating so early in the morning. But I must admit you made me develop quite an appetite,” he flirted again. “I’ll probably have something later, thanks.”

Aziraphale nodded, the redness in his cheeks not willing to disappear from his face (and the bulge in his pants wasn’t going anywhere either).

At least, Crowley was finally buttoning up his shirt. He looked like someone who wanted to take something off his chest.

“So, Aziraphale… I just want–”

“Yes, listen,” Aziraphale interrupted him. “You don’t have to worry about it, ok?”

This was clearly goodbye, and Aziraphale wanted it to be on his own terms.

“Ok…” Crowley looked a bit unsettled by that civil reaction.

“I mean, it was great… meeting you and… everything.”

Crowley was grinning like the cat who ate the canary. “Definitely.”

Aziraphale was speechless, but it was still Crowley’s turn to talk. “By the way, your ex was an idiot. And he was so wrong about you.”

Aziraphale looked for traces of mockery on the other man’s face, but all he could see was honesty and maybe… tenderness? Was Crowley blushing again?

“Well, you were drunk,” Aziraphale quipped to ease the tension.

Crowley chuckled in response. “Believe me, I wasn’t that drunk.”

Aziraphale hadn’t time to answer because Crowley’s mobile buzzed on the table. His eyes fell on the caller ID for a split second as he handed the device to his owner.

“Adam,” Aziraphale informed him.

Crowley looked at the screen in embarrassment and interrupted the call instead of answering. “I’ll call back later.”

He put the mobile back in his pocket, considering how to continue their previous conversation.

“Azira–”

“You don’t want your coffee?” Aziraphale asked before he could say anything.

Crowley looked at his watch. “I’m sorry, I should really be going.”

Aziraphale got the impression that Crowley really felt sorry for leaving.

“Sure. Mind how you go.”

Obviously, Crowley wasn’t satisfied by that farewell, seeing that he spoke again.

“Listen, Aziraphale, I’m not the kind of man you would want to get involved with… and you’ll be gone in a few days, so…”

Crowley watched incredulously as Aziraphale nodded in agreement.

“Just so you know,” he went on, “my life is a mess, and even if you were staying, you’d probably wouldn’t like to–”

Crowley groaned, but Aziraphale stopped him to avoid further embarrassment. “You don’t have to do this, Crowley. I told you, I’m in a weird place myself, right now. And, seriously, my dear, we hardly know each other.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say that after last night. I mean, things got… very biblical.”

Aziraphale chuckled. “You don’t need to draw on angel mythology to flatter me, Crowley.”

And if Aziraphale’s eyes weren’t messing with his mind, he wasn’t the only one blushing now.

“Ok, I just wanted to clear the air, let you know that… you’re better off without… me.”

Aziraphale concurred. “Exactly.”

“Exactly,” Crowley repeated. He thought about it for a second, then he said, “What does your… ‘exactly’ mean, exactly, because I feel like your ‘exactly’ and my ‘exactly’ are different exactlys–”

Aziraphale chuckled. Under different circumstances, he would really like to know more about this silly, ridiculous, wonderful man.

“I just wanted to say that I feel the same way. You’d probably hate knowing me.”

Crowley rambled on in a low voice, saying something like, “idontknowifimsureabouthat”.

“So, you can go. No hard feelings.”

“All right.”

Crowley looked for his coat and put it on; he was finally ready to leave, but he stopped in his tracks and got back towards the kitchen.

“I just… want to be sure that you’re really okay with this, because my sentimental life is like… disaster-coded, and sometimes I tend to hurt people simply by being myself. Emotions are pretty off the table for me, and–”

“I am not going to fall in love with you, Crowley.” Aziraphale said, blocking whatever train of thoughts was in Crowley’s mind.

“Okay. Nicely put. Thank you.”

Aziraphale stared at him. He really wished he could have seen his eyes, because he’d detected something that sounded vaguely like sorrow in his voice.

“And it’s not about you. I’m starting to think that I can’t fall in love, that I’m not cut out for it. Not like other people, anyway.” (Yes, I’m too much of a misanthrope to find love.)

Crowley’s lips parted in astonishment. He smiled softly. “For what it’s worth, angel, I really do think your ex is a prick.”

“Yeah, you mentioned this, once or twice.”

They shared a knowing look, both remembering the first very intimate occasion in which Crowley had said something like that the previous night, moments before heading for the bedroom.

Crowley buttoned up his coat. “Blatant honesty, I really liked that. Alright then, so you probably won’t be hearing from me, I mean, we didn’t even exchange numbers.”

“Exactly.”

“And even if you wanted to hear from me, I am a caveman, I– I never remember to call after a date.”

Aziraphale sighed. It looked like he’d been right about Crowley being a one-night stand type of guy.

“But… this wasn’t a date, right? So, I’m off the hook.”

“Exactly,” Aziraphale repeated for the third time, nodding and making a thumbs up sign with his fingers.

Out of the blue, Crowley stepped forward. “But what if I wanted to call you?” he asked, his tone of voice betraying a vulnerability that Aziraphale had yet to see in him.

Speechless, Aziraphale withdrew until his back found the countertop behind him. He opened his mouth to say something, but he couldn’t.

Crowley put some space between them, walking backwards in the room until he found himself at the door. “Right. Point taken; no strings attached. If you change your mind, or, or– if you want to go out, have some fun… I’m meeting some friends at the Donkey tonight, and, mghhh. I’ll be there. With them. Right, yeah.”

Aziraphale wondered if Crowley was asking him out of pity or because he sincerely wanted to see him again.

And were that the case, should he consider it a date?

“And, well, if we don’t see each other again, I just wanted to say–” Crowley groaned, struggling to find the right words. “You’re gorgeous, angel.”

Not giving him a chance to reciprocate the compliment, Crowley made his great exit, leaving Aziraphale behind.

“So are you,” he said to an empty kitchen.

🎄🎄🎄

“I’m glad to see you again, luv!” Tracy welcomed Aziraphale with her usual friendly smile.

“Me too, Tracy.”

“Ready to know your future?” she asked, noticing that Aziraphale wasn’t there to buy anything from the shop.

He chuckled. “No, not really. I was just wondering if you could tell me something about… erm… the Bolton family.”

Tracy’s eyes became unexpectedly excited. “Why?”

“Because… My mother was Elizabeth Bolton.”

“Oh, bugger.”

“Yeah, I know.” Aziraphale certainly shared the sentiment, whatever it was.

“You introduced yourself as Aziraphale Eastgate, I didn’t make the connection.”

“Well, that’s my father’s name.”

Tracy looked at him dearly. “So, what is it that you wanted to know about them, sweetheart?”

“As a matter of fact, I’m looking for my childhood house. Perhaps you remember where we lived?”

“Meadow View.”

Aziraphale smiled happily. Considering the name of the estate, maybe his mother’s tales about spending time in a meadow of bluebells were true.

“Where can I find it?”

🎄🎄🎄

It took Aziraphale almost half an hour to reach his destination, but it was worth it.

Tracy’s instructions were on the money; after walking for a couple of miles, he’d gotten across a bridge on a brook and he’d found himself wandering through the meadow. Of course, there were no bluebells in winter, but Aziraphale could picture the blooming field in his mind.

When he saw the cottage, he was filled with a weird sensation of deja vu. This time, he was recognising something.

The bricked path leading towards the courtyard. The white fence delimiting the main building. The warehouse, now transformed into a modern garage.

And the yellow façade. Those walls definitely stirred something in Aziraphale’s memory.

What surprised him the most, though, was the fact that the colour immediately reminded him of Crowley’s eyes. Which was indignantly preposterous, seeing that he’d had the chance of losing himself in those amber irises only for a few minutes (which apparently had been enough).

The cottage looked like it had been vacant for years.

His mother had mentioned once or twice that his father had sold the estate to another family. According to him, it was useless to keep the house, seeing that they never went back to England.

As Aziraphale l watched his childhood house for the first time in his adult life, he felt a pang of sadness. Maybe this was the last place where his mother had been happy, but all he could sense was misery and loneliness.

🎄🎄🎄

Aziraphale had to walk through town to get back to Bluebell Lodge.

When he crossed Main Square, his eyes fell for a split second on the sign outside the pub.

The Dirty Donkey.

‘I’m meeting some friends at the Donkey tonight.’

Crowley’s invitation echoed in his mind all the way back home. It was 6 PM when he finally got back, and he felt the urgent need to take another shower – the second after the well-deserved one he’d taken in the morning after Crowley’s takeoff.

The plans for the rest of the night contemplated eating, reading, catching up on his correspondence, doing some much needed self-reflection, and going to sleep.

Yes, a schedule, to keep my mind occupied. I’m good at that.

But he couldn’t think about anything else.

About no one else.

The more he considered the option, the more he convinced himself that spending another night with Crowley was the worst possible scenario. What could he possibly achieve by going out with Crowley and his friends? Getting to know him better?

What if Aziraphale got proof that he was some kind of rascal, a slimy serpent who slept with a different person night after night? It would taint the perfect memory he would keep of him if he remained in the unknown.

Or worse, what if he found out that not only Crowley was the most charming man alive, but he also was – deep down, a good person?

This was a ten-day trip. Aziraphale had to go back to New Haven before New Year’s Eve, he’d already bought the ticket. This was out of the question.

And what was the matter with him, anyway?

He’d never liked being in the same room with a stranger, let alone consent to being touched by said stranger.

What would I do to feel those smart fingers slipping inside–

“Ok, that’s enough!” Aziraphale admonished himself under the shower.

But the struggle was real, almost tangible. The clock in the lounge struck 9 PM and Aziraphale was still trying to focus enough to read his book. The Count was still up for his bloody duel with Albert de Morcerf (Aziraphale knew that they wouldn’t actually fight, still, he really wanted to read that part). Unfortunately, he kept recalling the moment Crowley had mentioned the book.

Like finding the best way to get even with the conte de Morcerf?

Sure, The Count of Montecristo was one of the greatest novels ever written, half of the people in the world had read it. But who among them vividly remembered the names of the characters and the plot of a twelve-hundred-page book?

And then, the song. The softness of Crowley’s voice as he sang one of his mother’s favorite tunes made Aziraphale smile even now.

And the fact that he knew the origin of his name.

An enigmatic, ridiculous name, a cryptic reference discovered by his mother in a rare Bible.

And Crowley knew that it belonged to an angel. And he’d started calling him that ever since.

Do you need more reasons to go, you bloody idiot?

🎄🎄🎄

The pub was crowded, but Aziraphale was the only person who’d come on his own.

He felt pretty proud of himself, doing the unexpected, again. Trying to earn the title of adventurous type so that he could have something to rub in Gabriel’s face once he got back.

Every time the door of the pub opened, Aziraphale raised his eyes to check if Crowley had arrived. It was 10.30 PM by now, and he wasn’t there, yet. Aziraphale was almost losing hope.

He had chosen to sit in the corner, so that he could watch people getting inside without them immediately spotting him.

When Crowley finally arrived, Aziraphale grinned like the Cheshire cat. Crowley’s face was still red from the cold, and tonight he was wearing a stylish dark grey thin scarf around his neck. He looked so incredibly handsome that Aziraphale unconsciously licked his lips. (Someone put me down, for God’s sake.)

Aziraphale was hidden by a group of four people that were standing up, getting ready to leave. But he caught a glimpse of Crowley looking around, searching for someone. Probably his friends?

Crowley’s eyes fell on a party of three on the other side of the pub. He waved at his friends as soon as he recognised them and he walked across the room to join them.

One of them said something and made Crowley laugh, but his smile looked somewhat wistful, at least from what Aziraphale could see from afar.

Crowley took off his coat and as he put it on the chair, he looked up and finally spotted Aziraphale through the moving crowd. Their eyes locked and Crowley broke into the cutest, most contagious smile Aziraphale had ever seen in his life. His lips moved on their own accord, mimicking Crowley’s expression of happiness. His heart beating faster than ever, he raised a hand, wiggling his fingers in a soft gesture as he mouthed a simple ‘Hello’.

Crowley excused himself with his friends and walked towards Aziraphale, moving with grace, and swaying his hips like they didn’t belong to his body. It was the first time Aziraphale had the chance to witness this performance. And in a terrifying moment of clarity, he began to hope it wouldn’t be the last.

Chapter Text

“What do we have here?” Crowley broke the ice, clearly trying to show off.

“Good evening, dear,” Aziraphale managed to say.

Words, uh?

“May I?” Crowley asked, pointing at the empty chair.

“Oh, of course, but I wouldn’t want you to neglect your friends.”

“Who, those wankers? Don’t worry about ‘em. I must say, I’m really surprised to see you here. I didn’t think you’d come.”

Aziraphale decided to keep up the flirty banter. Two could play this game.

“That’s why you were looking for me when you got inside?”

There you go, alea iacta est.

Crowley hid behind his signature smirk. “Who says I was looking for you?”

“You weren’t?”

“As I said, you are a bit of a bastard,” he reminded him, trying to hold back his amusement.

“Maybe.” Aziraphale picked up the glass of wine to keep his hands busy.

Crowley leaned back on the chair, his lips still curled into that insufferable smirk. He wasn’t properly sitting, he was… sprawling. His left arm rested on the back of the chair and his long legs were extended under the table.

Aziraphale wondered if there was something, anything that Crowley could do without attracting every single cell of his body.

“What are you drinking?”

“A Cabernet Sauvignon.” Aziraphale placed the glass on the table. “It’s tasty.”

Crowley stole the glass from him, his fingers touching Aziraphale’s for a brief moment, causing a jolt of electricity that certainly didn’t help his nerves.

Crowley tasted the wine, then he carefully put the glass down, savouring its flavour on his lips. (And tongue.)

Of course, he must lick his lips and drive me out of my mind.

“You’re right, it’s good,” Crowley assessed. “So, you wanna join us?”

For the first time that night, Aziraphale felt a well-known surge of inadequacy threatening to come to the surface. His eyes probably betrayed his inner turmoil, because Crowley corrected himself. “I’m– I’m sorry, I thought you wanted to–”

Aziraphale rested his hand on Crowley’s, causing the other man to watch their fingers as they touched. “I’d like to spend the night with you and your friends,” Aziraphale said, mustering up all his courage. “It’s just that… I’m not good around other people.”

Crowley sighed, his cross expression immediately re-morphing into a soft one. “You are good around me.”

“You are not people.”

“Oh yeah? What am I?”

“You are–” Aziraphale sighed. “An uncommonly beautiful stranger whose sibling’s house I’m currently renting.”

“After what transpired between us last night, I thought we were over the stranger thing, angel.”

Aziraphale melted as soon as he heard the pet name. He’d thought that Crowley wouldn’t call him that anymore, not after leaving the cottage that morning. And yet, he was still using the word as a term of endearment.

“Oh, I wouldn’t know about that. I don’t even know your full name,” Aziraphale suddenly realised.

Crowley’s fingers intertwined with Aziraphale’s over the table, and the simple soft touch was enough to send shivers down his spine.

“Anthony J. Crowley. Nice to meet you, Mr Eastgate.”

Aziraphale smiled. “Professor Eastgate, actually.”

“Oh, formality, angel? Really?”

Aziraphale chuckled. “No, dear, that was me trying to tell you that I am a professor.”

Crowley looked fascinated. “Ohhhh… Let me guess your field!”

He let go of Aziraphale’s hand; but his mourning for the loss of his touch lasted only a second because Crowley moved his hand to Aziraphale’s neck and held his bowtie between his long delicate fingers.

“Ancient languages? Latin?”

Aziraphale smiled. Crowley wasn’t that far from the right answer, but he shook his head.

“Philosophy?”

He shook his head again. This game could last a while.

Crowley abruptly let go of the bowtie and pointed his finger at him. “Comparative literature.”

Aziraphale chuckled. It had taken him only three attempts to guess.

“And English,” he said. “What can I say, I always felt a connection to my birthplace.”

Crowley moved his hand, gesturing like a professional actor. “I'll follow thee and make a heaven of hell, to die upon the hand I love so well.”

The look of satisfaction on Crowley’s face was so pure and addictive that Aziraphale couldn’t utter a single word for a few seconds. He blinked furiously, trying to control his breathing system.

Good Lord, he just quoted A Midsummer Night’s Dream.

This wasn’t even one of the most memorable verses of Shakespeare’s. Aziraphale had met many people who’d tried to impress him by quoting the most popular ‘We are such stuff as dreams are made on’ from The Tempest, or ‘All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players’ from As you like it, or ‘Thou and I are too wise to woo peaceably’ from Much Ado About Nothing (and with a brilliant epiphany, Aziraphale realised that Crowley would make an absolutely perfect, delicious Benedick).

Crowley had quoted a very peculiar verse; maybe he wanted to stick with the whole angel metaphor from their conversation by mentioning heaven and hell?

Crowley shrugged under Aziraphale’s scrutinising gaze, feeling the need to explain. “I favour comedies. Not a great fan of the gloomy ones, me.”

Aziraphale giggled at Crowley’s capacity to switch between Shakespeare quotes and sentences patched together with no verbs and wrong pronouns. He was so silly.

And he made him smile.

Aziraphale was about to ask him how he knew so much about theatre, when they were interrupted.

“Hey C, are you coming or what?” a very handsome guy asked. Aziraphale figured that he couldn’t be over thirty. (A purple lock in his hair and piercings in both ears corroborated this assumption.)

“Yeah, Erik, in a minute.”

“Who’s the cutie pie?” Erik asked, his face all lit up in a playful little smile.

Aziraphale blushed and averted his eyes.

“This is Aziraphale Eastgate. He’s switched houses with Beez for Christmas.”

“Fuck off!” Erik shouted.

“Ask him,” Crowley nodded in Aziraphale’s direction.

“Erm… it’s true, I’m staying at Bluebell Lodge and Beez… well, they’re in Connecticut.”

Erik’s mouth opened wide. He shifted his gaze back and forth from Crowley to Aziraphale, still incredulous.

“By the way, I heard from them today. They cut the conversation short, but it seems they’re having fun. They mentioned your brother, he was very helpful.”

“Gabriel? Helpful? Is this the same Gabriel?”

Crowley chuckled at Aziraphale’s indignant remark.

“Why don’t you lovebirds get back to our table? Maybe you can tell us about this whole home exchange thingy, Az.”

“We’re on our way,” Crowley agreed, cutting his friend short. (And Aziraphale did not melt inside at the thought that Crowley hadn’t corrected Erik when he’d called them lovebirds.)

Crowley moved as if to stand up, but he was stopped by Aziraphale’s hand on his arm.

“Something wrong?”

“I wouldn’t want to spoil your evening,” Aziraphale said, knowing that he probably looked like a lost puppy.

Crowley’s soft smile warmed his heart. “You could have spoiled this evening only by not coming, Aziraphale.”

“Oh.”

Crowley took Aziraphale’s hand in his and started walking backwards towards his friends.

“If it wasn’t completely obvious already, I’m glad you’re here, angel.”

Aziraphale blushed as he followed him, the warm touch of Crowley’s hands welcoming him like a safety net.

“So – fucking – glad.”

And Aziraphale believed him.

“Me too,” he said, finding that he believed this, too.

🎄🎄🎄

A few glasses of wine had been enough to help Aziraphale loosen up a bit. He often said that there was nothing like the ritual of conviviality to help people lower their defenses.

Aziraphale was experiencing this kind of atmosphere for the first time because he’d never gotten along with other people enough to get comfortably tipsy around them. Not that Erik, Shax and Furfur weren’t saying things that made him feel a bit out of place. But they were keeping a jovial tone and their jokes never transcended into rudeness. (Aziraphale had a hunch that Crowley had chastised them a few moments ago, when he’d excused himself to go to the loo.)

The contemporary background music had changed half an hour ago, replaced by a Queen playlist. ‘Of course, it’s bloody-Queen’, thought Aziraphale.

When Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy came on, he and Crowley exchanged a knowing bashful glance, both their minds clearly going back to their moment in the kitchen that morning. And, consequently, to the previous night.

Crowley was the first to break eye contact, licking his lips with that wicked tongue of his, and Aziraphale gasped at the memory.

(He would never forget that moment of sinfulness when Crowley had licked himself on his belly, would he? And to be fair, who would?!)

Crowley blushed a bit (is he thinking about the same thing?) as an unpredictably self-confident Aziraphale took it as a win.

“Hey Az, Crowley told you he sings in a Queen tribute band?” Shax asked.

She and Furfur made a weird couple, but they were also kind of cute. Throughout the evening, Aziraphale had learned that they’d gotten married a few years back, both well into their forties.

“I haven’t had a chance to tell him, Shax,” Crowley hissed.

“I thought you were a literary editor?” Aziraphale asked, remembering what he’d found out about Crowley’s occupation during the evening. He’d also made a mental note to investigate further, because this was a promising ground for very interesting conversations. (Not that Aziraphale expected to have such an opportunity ever again.)

“That’s my day job,” Crowley clarified with a lopsided grin.

“But he turns into a demonic slut at night,” Erik cracked up, his laughter so contagious that all of them chuckled along, including Aziraphale.

“Well, not so much since Adam and–”

Furfur’s comment was drastically interrupted when someone kicked him under the table. (Crowley, judging by his frown.)

Aziraphale was reminded of the phone call, of the name ‘Adam’ on Crowley’s mobile. A call he hadn't answered, to be fair. But Aziraphale was connecting the dots, realising that he shouldn’t expect anything from Crowley, if not the pleasure of his company right there and then, as long as this gorgeous man would allow.

“Well, I wish I could see you on stage,” Aziraphale said, trying to ease the tension at the table.

“Actually–” Crowley massaged his neck in a nervous motion. “We have a gig in a few days. On New Year’s Eve.”

Aziraphale sighed, melancholy already transpiring from his eyes. “I’ll be gone by then.”

Crowley’s reply was interrupted by Shax’s tiny squeak of terror when she noticed that they were out of beers. She got up with Furfur in tow, asking if Aziraphale wanted another glass of wine. When he felt Crowley staring intently at him (bugger, if only he took those bloody glasses off!) he decided that drinking his sorrows away was probably for the best.

🎄🎄🎄

“My point is… my point is–”

Aziraphale was trying to keep his balance while he simultaneously opened the door to the cottage and listened to Crowley’s nonsense about fish and sea mammals.

“What’s your point?”

“My point is… dolphins.”

Aziraphale chuckled. By then, drunk as they were, he and Crowley wouldn’t probably be able to write their names correctly, but at least they could have a good laugh about it.

“What’s with dolphins?” he asked, trying to make sense of what the other man was saying.

“Big brains. Always liked dolphins. Ana loved them too, she had a full collection of knick knacks, dolphins from… all around the world!” he dramatically stated. “Passed it on to me.”

“Who’s Ana?” Aziraphale asked, still laughing. But Crowley didn’t answer, his mind already somewhere else.

“Not to mention the whales. Brain city, whales.”

“Yeah, you mentioned whales,” Aziraphale replied, incoherently.

“Did I?”

They were inside, now. They managed to take off their coats, but only because they dropped them on the floor.

“Beez!” Crowley suddenly yelled. “We need coffee!”

Aziraphale laughed hysterically. “They’re not here, silly!”

After a couple of seconds, Crowley’s loud laughter joined Aziraphale’s.

“Yeah, if they were here, you wouldn’t,” Crowley realised.

The giggle stopped and a totally different tension radiated from their bodies.

Something physical, almost carnal.

Aziraphale glanced at Crowley’s mouth and that single look was enough for them to surrender. Aziraphale found himself pushed up against a wall by the lapels of his jacket. Crowley held him there and claimed his mouth in a hungry kiss.

Aziraphale’s hands found purchase around Crowley’s waist in a movement that already felt natural, so much so that the familiarity of it was frightening.

He felt Crowley’s tongue exploring his mouth slowly, stopping from time to time to nip at his lips and neck.

“Stay?” Aziraphale asked, intoxicated by his own drunkenness and by the wine he could taste on Crowley’s tongue. He wasn’t clear-headed, but somewhere underneath (probably around his nether regions, if he took some time to think about it) he knew that he did want this.

“You sure?” Crowley asked, clearly struggling to think straight in such a predicament.

Aziraphale’s hands moved from Crowley’s waist. He took his time to take off his sunglasses, putting them very carefully on the cabinet, not ever losing eye contact with the beautiful man in front of him.

“I will live in thy heart, die in thy lap, and be buried in thy eyes,” Aziraphale recited by heart.

“Not fair quoting Shakespeare when you’re drunk,” Crowley playfully scolded him, his hands stroking Aziraphale’s forearms as his pupils got dilated, betraying how aroused he already was.

“Much Ado is allowed. And you would be a fantastic Benedick,” Aziraphale heard himself voicing his intimate realisation of a few hours before.

“Ok, now I know you’re fucking with me,” Crowley chuckled.

“I hope so,” Aziraphale replied, trying to keep up the playful banter.

(Crowley’s smile in response to his cheeky line was all the answer he needed.)

Chapter Text

Crowley was already in the kitchen when Aziraphale joined him in the morning. For a moment, after waking up alone in his bed, he’d almost feared that the other man might have left. But he should have known better by now.

They weren’t a matching pair, what with Crowley being a dashing and exciting human being in contrast with Aziraphale, a boring dusty professor who would easily find a place on a shelf in an antique store. But not even all the insecurities that Aziraphale was trying to keep hidden would change the fact that there was a weird tension between them, a force that pulled them to one another. It was almost… ineffable.

When Aziraphale showed up in the kitchen, Crowley’s attention was instantly diverted from his mobile phone, his lips turning into an irresistibly soft smile.

Aziraphale sat opposite him at the table, holding his head in his hands.

“I’m pretty sure I’ve never had that much to drink before,” he confessed.

“You don’t say,” Crowley joked in return.

“And yet, I’m not the one who was ranting about fish.”

“Nope, but I vividly remember you quoting Shakespeare to trick me into your bed.”

Aziraphale blushed, incapable of hiding his embarrassment.

“If you thought I was teasing you, why did you stay?”

Crowley’s answer was instantaneous and blatantly honest. “Because you asked me to.”

Aziraphale squeezed his eyes shut. “Oh, I did, didn’t I?”

He peeked between his fingers, looking at Crowley for confirmation.

“From the moment we met, everything has felt like an adventure!”

“I’ll remember what you just said the first time I talk to my brother.”

“Why?”

“Let’s just say he doesn’t think I was built for having fun.”

“I strenuously disagree, angel,” came Crowley’s reply in a sultry voice.

Aziraphale cleared his throat. “Uhm… nevertheless, I’m deeply sorry for my behaviour. I have nothing to say for myself other than… I must be temporarily out of my mind. You know with– with the breakup and the jet-lag… and– meeting you…”

Crowley nodded without conviction, trying to disguise the fact that he was basically gloating. Aziraphale noticed the other man’s hand moving across the table, probably trying to reach his, but their little moment was interrupted when Crowley’s phone buzzed again. Aziraphale’s eyes fell on the screen and he couldn’t help but notice that someone named ‘Warlock’ was calling Crowley, whose reaction was slightly different than the previous day as he took the phone with a bit of anxiety. “I should probably take this one,” he excused himself.

Aziraphale nodded rapidly and watched as Crowley left the kitchen, moved to the lounge, and went outside. He figured this must have been a very important and private call, if Crowley needed to get out of the house to take it. Aziraphale stood up, taking Crowley’s coffee cup with him. Against his better judgement (the little voice in his head was screaming to resist), Aziraphale glanced at Crowley through the window, noticing that he was walking absentmindedly. Laughing. (And of course Aziraphale couldn’t help but feel a little jealous.)

‘Adam, Warlock, Aziraphale,’ he thought, realising again that he was just the last name on a long list of one-nighters. He scolded himself because he had no right to feel like that. He was in town for just a few days, this was just… pure entertainment.

(As blissful and mindblowing as it was.)

Crowley ended the call and came back inside the cottage, closing the door behind him, and still shivering from the cold. He adjusted the sunglasses on his nose and rejoined Aziraphale.

“Pillars of creation,” he stated, out of the blue.

“What?” Aziraphale asked.

Crowley randomly pointed his finger at Aziraphale’s laptop. The computer had remained on the counter since the previous night, turned on and charging.

“Your desktop wallpaper,” Crowley explained, his lips turning into a satisfied smirk. “That’s a photograph taken by Hubble. It’s a group of elephant trunks–” he stopped for a second, noticing Aziraphale’s confused gaze. “Massive pillars of gas and dust… that particular formation is in the Eagle Nebula, in the Serpens constellation.”

Aziraphale was once again speechless and amazed at the same time.

(And this was getting unacceptable: Aziraphale had never felt lost for words as many times as in the last couple of days.)

“I thought you were a literary editor.”

“We’ve already established that even I have hobbies. And you’re repeating yourself.” Crowley smirked again.

For starters, Aziraphale tried to ignore the fact that Crowley had once again come to his rescue providing information about something he didn’t know. He’d downloaded a random image because he’d liked it, but he remembered feeling a bit lost for not knowing what it represented.

Now he knew.

And secondly, was there something about Crowley that wasn’t absolutely astounding?

“I reckon you love astronomy?”

“There are so many things you don’t know about me, angel.”

“Yes, I can see that,” Aziraphale whispered back.

After a minute of tense silence, Crowley took them out of their misery. “All right.” He clapped his hands vigorously. “I think we should go into town.”

“We should?” Aziraphale asked, confused.

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry, what do you mean?”

Crowley sighed in exasperation. “I think you should go upstairs. You should get dressed. Pick one of those ridiculous bowties of yours.” Crowley wiggled his fingers at him. “And then you should get down so that we can go outside, get in my car, take a drive, go to town and have lunch.”

Aziraphale was still too stunned to understand Crowley’s intentions. “But… why?”

Crowley took off his glasses before his next sentence. And Aziraphale was shocked when he recognised an incomprehensible range of emotions emanating from his now bare eyes.

“Because I’m running out of reasons why we shouldn’t.”

This time, Aziraphale’s astonishment was followed by an unexpected flash of affection towards Crowley.

“Aren’t you?” Crowley asked sincerely, looking almost vulnerable.

All Aziraphale could do in return was grin.

🎄🎄🎄

Aziraphale was back in his formal attire when he finally joined Crowley outside. Even if they exchanged a smile when they reunited, they walked into town in silence for a while, side by side, neither of them willing to break that moment of friendly companionship. Apparently, they needed to get back to Crowley’s car to get to… wherever it was that the man wanted to take Aziraphale to.

After the longest twenty minutes of Aziraphale’s life, they finally arrived at their destination. Crowley produced a set of car keys from his pocket and revealed in the delightful expression on Aziraphale’s face when he saw his car for the first time.

“Good Lord!”

“Yep.” Crowley smirked. “Before you ask, it’s a 1933 Bentley, completely renovated.”

Aziraphale had never seen a more beautiful vehicle in his entire life.

Stylish. Dark grey. Exuberant.

Quintessentially Crowley.

It was such a perfect extension to his already perfect persona.

“Of course you drive this car,” Aziraphale blurted out.

“You should like it, it’s a classic, probably one of a kind.”

“Yes, I suppose it is.” Aziraphale winked at him.

“Ngk,” came Crowley’s reply as he entered the car.

Aziraphale wiggled in satisfaction, noticing that for once he hadn’t been the one left without words. And Crowley (Crowley who could quote Shakespeare by heart, who recognised stellar formations at first glance, who sang Queen like he was a bloody rock star), had been reduced to a bunch of consonants in reaction to something that Aziraphale had said.

Again, he took it as a victory.

He changed his attitude as soon as he got in the car, though, because Crowley took off without further notice, a devilish smirk on his lips.

“Buckle up, angel. It’s gonna be one hell of a ride.”

“I thought we were only going to town!” Aziraphale said while frantically looking for the seat belt.

“Yes. But I never mentioned which town.”

🎄🎄🎄

It took them less than two hours to get to London.

It was both the longest and the shortest ride of Aziraphale’s life.

The longest because Crowley drove like a crazy man, often above the speed limit. Fortunately, when they started talking and exchanging stories about their lives, he lifted his foot off the pedal and the Bentley slowed down a little.

As a result, the same ride became the shortest of Aziraphale’s life.

Getting to know each other was surprisingly easy. Aziraphale learned that his family had been in the publishing industry for generations. Crowley had taken his PhD (or as they called it at Oxford, his DPhil) in Classical Languages and Literature. Becoming a literary editor hadn’t felt like an imposition to him and he loved his job (his father had been an important editor at Random House and his mother a novelist). But Crowley also had a creative mind; he’d never felt satisfied when forced to stick to rules and propriety, so he’d found a way to blow off steam: music. He’d taken singing lessons and learned how to play guitar and piano.

As minutes went by, Aziraphale found himself more and more mesmerised by Crowley. As he’d suspected (feared), not only was he an exquisitely gorgeous man, but an amazing person as well. Talking to him was so easy and it felt so… right.

Aziraphale knew that he wasn’t as talkative as he should have been, but he was so eager to know every aspect of Crowley’s life that he didn’t feel the need to reciprocate. Besides, it wasn’t necessary. Why should Crowley be interested in what he did, in who he was? Aziraphale was only a tedious professor who lived overseas and who would disappear from his life in a few days.

No reason to expose himself too much.

By noon, they arrived in Central London. Crowley obviously had a destination in mind because he was driving like someone who knew where he was going.

“All right angel, I hope you enjoy this,” he said when, at last, he parked the Bentley outside the place he’d been heading to.

“Where are we?”

Crowley smirked and got out of the car, running to the other side of the vehicle to open Aziraphale’s door.

“This is a joke, right?” Aziraphale asked, noticing the sign in front of him.

“Nope.”

The audacity of the man!

“We’re having lunch at the Ritz?” Aziraphale couldn’t believe his eyes. “How?!”

Crowley shrugged. “Well, I– I– I just made a call.”

Aziraphale stared at him. “You made a call?”

“Ok, maybe my family name means something ‘round here.”

“So, what, a– a table for two has just miraculously come free?”

Crowley grinned. “Something like that.”

🎄🎄🎄

“You know that having lunch at the Ritz was on my to-do list?” Aziraphale confessed, savoring his Château Lafite Rothschild.

“I know we were pretty wasted yesterday, but I remember you telling me this.”

“Did I?”

“Yep,” said Crowley, popping the ‘p’. “You also mentioned something about the Virgin of the Rocks.”

“It may look like I had everything planned for a trip to London, but believe me, I hadn’t!” Aziraphale promised.

“That’s exactly why I took the matter into my own hands.”

Crowley’s triumphant smile was contagious. Aziraphale would have wanted to say many things to keep up their banter, but he found himself all out of jokes.

“Thank you, my dear.”

They enjoyed the wine while waiting for the appetizers, reveling in each other’s company.

“What kind of editor are you?” Aziraphale suddenly asked.

“A demon.” Crowley chuckled. “What do you mean?”

“Do you give massive notes, or–”

“Well, it depends.”

“On what?”

“On the writer’s talent,” Crowley hissed back with a mischievous grin.

“And how good are you at your job?”

Crowley leaned over the table to get closer. “Very.”

(And this time, it was Crowley’s turn to wink.)

Aziraphale rolled his eyes pretending that Crowley was a nuisance, but in reality, he was feeling very much affected. (And it seemed like he couldn’t get enough of it.)

“You didn’t tell me about Beez’ job, what do they do?”

Crowley looked at him in surprise. Was Aziraphale annoying him with all these questions?

“Oh, dear… I’m sorry if this looks like a third grade. I haven’t been on a first date in a long time.”

As soon as those words came out of his mouth, Aziraphale closed his eyes and wished he could take them back. Crowley had never clarified if this was, in fact, a date and Aziraphale hadn’t asked. You bloody idiot!

Even if he appeared a bit surprised at first, Crowley’s demeanor betrayed comfort, somehow. Something that almost looked like relief. But a few seconds later, his usual smirk returned on his face.

“We slept together twice, angel. I think we can consider this as such.”

“And what do people usually do on first dates?”

“You know, the usual stuff. Trying to get to know one another. Like and dislikes, enemies and friends, how you drink your tea or coffee…”

Aziraphale screamed inside at the realisation that he’d known Crowley for two days and he already had an answer to more than a few of those questions. (Which was incredible, considering how much he usually disliked talking with strangers.)

“So, what was the question? Oh yes, Beez. They’re a journalist,” Crowley said. “And before you ask, they write a column about music and entertainment for The Sun and yes, they’re very good.”

Aziraphale smiled.

Genuinely.

Because he really liked Crowley, who seemed to understand his flaws and quirks, and most importantly, accept them.

“I think we’ve talked enough about me, angel. Why don’t you tell me something about you?”

“Oh, there’s nothing that interesting to mention.”

Crowley probably felt his tension, because he decided that it was a good time to give Aziraphale another chance to see his bare eyes. Aziraphale wondered how often Crowley felt comfortable enough to take off his sunglasses when he was around other people. If this was some kind of courtesy or if he really felt at ease. (Unspoken: with him.)

“Aziraphale,” Crowley said, looking him straight in the eye. “I don’t know what happened in your life to make you feel like you don’t deserve attention. That you don’t deserve praise and care.”

Aziraphale held his breath.

“But I want to know fucking everything about you, even if you think it’s stupid. In fact, I want you to tell me the first stupid thing that comes to your mind right now.”

“Erm…”

“Come on, angel. I know you can do it. Indulge me.”

Maybe it was Crowley’s persuasive tone, maybe it was the fact that his eyes were so beautiful that Aziraphale was getting lost in them. But he couldn’t resist.

“I once taught a course called Shakespeare 101.”

Crowley’s cackle startled a few people at the nearest tables. Aziraphale laughed along with him, relaxing a bit.

“You were right, that’s one of the stupidest things I’ve ever heard. Did you have many students?”

“Yes!” Aziraphale nodded.

“I know that Americans aren’t so keen on English literature, but I mean, 101? What did you teach them?”

“Basic Shakespeare… things like… plots, characters names, locations… their final exam was a multiple-choice quiz with questions like, ‘What is Othello’s fatal flaw? A. Jealousy, B. Madness, C. Hubris, D. Ambition’.”

“Un-fuckin’-believable.” Crowley shook his head, too shocked to say anything else, the ghost of a smile still visible at the corner of his lips.

The waiter showed up with their starters and Aziraphale’s eyes brightened up. He’d never seen such a perfect presentation. He looked lovingly at Crowley, trying to convey his enthusiasm and gratitude to him.

“Have you got other siblings?” Crowley casually asked as he took a bite into his mouth.

He didn’t get an immediate response, because Aziraphale had just taken his first bite, and when the beef tartare made contact with his tongue, his eyes fluttered closed. He probably got lost in tasting, because when he opened his eyes, Crowley was staring at him, his lips slightly parted.

“This is just scrumptious! It feels like heaven,” Aziraphale said, pointing at the tartare with his fork.

Crowley didn’t really answer, mumbling something to himself, a rapid sentence that sounded like ‘I bet it does’.

“I’m sorry, what were you saying, dear?”

Crowley recovered and smiled tenderly. “I asked if you have other brothers or sisters.”

“No, it’s just me and Gabriel. Although my father remarried soon after divorcing my mother, so I have two stepsisters, which I’ve never met.”

“You’re not on good terms with him?”

Aziraphale shook his head without looking at Crowley. “Not really, no.”

“And what about your mother?” Crowley asked innocently.

Aziraphale felt the usual pang in his heart whenever he thought about her. “She died a few years ago.”

Obviously, Crowley’s reaction was to apologise for his indiscretion. “I’m sorry, angel.”

“Don’t be, you couldn’t know.” He smiled softly.

“So your relationship with your mother was good?”

“Yes. She was always there for me. She was formidable. She taught me how to be a proper Englishman in New York.”

Crowley grinned. “Angel, did you just quote Sting?!”

“Maybe.” Aziraphale wiggled, for once he got to be the smug one.

“She was British?”

“Yes. She was from Tadfield, actually.”

Crowley nodded in acknowledgment. Apparently, pieces of the puzzle were fitting into place for him.

“My father is American. They never really got along.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“What about your parents?”

Crowley smiled sadly. “Well, as I said it’s just Beez and me, now.”

It was Aziraphale’s turn to feel sorry for his friend.

“But they were very much in love, until their last day. Hideously so. Beez and I used to make fun of them, but they were… nice together, you know? Like one of those rom-coms with Rock Hudson and Doris Day.”

The reference made Aziraphale smile.

“Since their death, I’ve been very protective of Beez. That’s why I reacted poorly when I first met you, I’m sorry.”

“Oh, don’t be. Not ever, not for being kind to your sibling.”

Crowley’s playful scowl froze Aziraphale. “I’m not kind. Kind is a four-letter word.”

“Like ‘nice’,” Aziraphale said, remembering their first night together.

“Exactly,” Crowley said through his teeth, his tone all bark and no bite.

(Aziraphale forced himself not to think too hard about the blissful moment when Crowley had bit him.)

“I don’t know if I completely understand your aversion towards four-letter words.”

Crowley chuckled while Aziraphale ate the last morsel of his course. “Would you like to finish mine?” he offered.

Aziraphale was surprised by that suggestion. “You are not going to eat it?”

“I’m not a big eater.”

“I thought that counted only for early in the morning,” Aziraphale teased him.

Crowley blushed, and Aziraphale smirked in satisfaction.

“Well, if you really don’t mind.”

Crowley waited a moment before asking his next question. “What do you miss the most about your mother?”

Aziraphale was surprised by the personal question and it probably showed, seeing that Crowley tensed up a bit.

“I’m– I’m sorry, you don’t have to–”

“We sang together,” Aziraphale blurted out. “All the time.”

Crowley’s eyes filled up with such tenderness that it almost made Aziraphale cry.

“She loved… all kinds of music. The Beatles, Buddy Holly, Johnny Cash… oh, and obviously, Queen.”

“Obviously,” Crowley stated, matter-of-factly.

“I played the piano and we sang together for hours, and… we got lost in the music.”

Aziraphale felt his nose itch and he knew he would probably cry soon if he didn’t stop talking about his mother.

“I sort of arranged These Are the Days of Our Lives for her eulogy. I haven’t sung ever since.”

Crowley gasped. “You haven’t sung since your mother passed away? When was this?”

“Four years ago.”

“Wow.”

“I know, it’s ridiculous, but… I’ve tried, you know? I listen to our music, and I sing in my mind, but my voice… it doesn’t cooperate. It’s like something in my vocal cords died together with her. Singing with my mother gave me joy, it made me feel loved. It made me feel like I could love.”

“This is why you think you are not cut out for falling in love?” Crowley wondered.

Aziraphale averted his gaze, feeling a bit out of sorts. “I don’t know. Maybe. Obviously, I thought it was getting better when I got with Rafe, but–”

“But you never sang when you were with him.”

Aziraphale nodded, and he found himself once again under Crowley’s spell. Crowley, who apparently knew what he was thinking even before he mentioned it.

After a minute, said lovely man decided that it was time to change the mood.

“Well, angel, I… sing– literally like– all the time!”

Aziraphale’s chuckle lit up the room.

“You don’t!”

“Of course I do!”

“You can’t sing literally all the time; it would mean you always sing!” Aziraphale teased.

“I do!! I sing in the car, when I work, when I wake up, under the shower, while having sex–”

“You didn’t sing while we were having sex!” Aziraphale interrupted, looking aghast.

Crowley ignored him. “Occupational hazard, angel. Of course, I favor Queen, but it’s enough to hear a good tune, a song I know and–”

But Aziraphale wasn’t listening to him anymore. He was lost in a perfect world where he and Crowley could have this. Waking up together, making easy conversation, dining at the Ritz, laughing at each other.

He’d never felt so at peace in his life, and he owed it all to this wonderful man.

Chapter Text

A while later, Crowley and Aziraphale were taking a stroll in Berkeley Square, determined to enjoy the warm, sunny day. They walked and they talked about– oh, everything, really.

To Aziraphale, it all felt surreal. Finding himself so in tune with another human being was such a new experience that he still hardly believed how comfortable he was.

Crowley surprised him when he unexpectedly started showing off his knowledge of plants, flowers, and greenery in general. They were visiting the gardens, dominated by a group of London Plane trees that, according to Crowley (and Aziraphale never doubted for a second that he was right) had been planted in 1789.

“I would pay a fortune to travel back in time to the Reign of Terror!” Aziraphale said.

Crowley chuckled. “Why?”

“It is said that it was a very good time to find the best crêpes and brioches in Paris.”

“So what, you would’ve popped across the Channel during a revolution only to get something to nibble?” Crowley couldn’t stop laughing. “Perhaps all dressed up like an aristocrat, ready to be guillotined?”

“I have standards,” Aziraphale replied, pleased to find out that Crowley knew perfectly well what to expect from him.

They spent a few minutes in silence, walking side by side and enjoying each other’s presence.

“So, plants,” Aziraphale said. “You are a singer and an astronomer and a botanist in your spare time?”

“I like plants. Easier to deal with than humans.”

“That’s for sure,” Aziraphale (the misanthrope) agreed.

“The trick is not to spoil ‘em. Must keep ‘em on their toes, scare ‘em when necessary, not boost their ego–”

“Scare them?”

“Obviously. It’s the only way to grow them verdant and luxurious.”

“If you had to choose between stargazing and gardening, which one would you pick?” Aziraphale asked, hoping to find out what Crowley liked best.

Crowley smirked. “A picnic under the stars.”

Aziraphale chuckled. “You fiend.”

Crowley had fooled him again.

(And Aziraphale had the distinct feeling it wouldn’t be the last time.)

🎄🎄🎄

Visiting the National Gallery was one of those moments of pure transcendence that Aziraphale would probably remember for the rest of his life. He spent their tour affected by an inner turmoil that could easily be equated to a mild form of Stendhal syndrome.

He almost cried when he saw the Virgin of the Rocks, but the final blow was probably Venus and Mars.

“Have you ever seen anything more beautiful?”

Crowley didn’t answer as quickly as he should have, clearly otherwise distracted. “I thought you lived in New York. Never been to the MoMA?”

“Of course, and it is simply breathtaking! But I’ve always had a penchant for Italian Renaissance.”

“I’m more of a Romantic kind of guy.”

“Wh– what?”

“You know, Turner, Constable, Friedrich…”

“Oh, sure,” Aziraphale tried not to sound too disappointed for the fact he’d misinterpreted Crowley’s use of capital letters.

The rest of their tour was spent mostly in silence, even if sometimes Aziraphale spoke to illustrate historical facts about the paintings or the artists. Crowley didn’t look annoyed or bored; on the contrary, he asked interesting questions and at times also provided information himself. He seemed to have an extensive knowledge of the subject, so much so that Aziraphale thought that maybe Crowley was talking less than him just because he wanted to listen.

Aziraphale had never felt so appreciated, not even by his students.

And as hours went by, he found himself more and more besotted with Crowley.

(Which also meant that he was doomed.)

🎄🎄🎄

“Are you ready to find out what’s in store for the evening?” Crowley asked Aziraphale around 5.30 PM, when they found themselves walking back to the Bentley.

“I thought we were headed back to Tadfield?”

“Nah.” Crowley smiled. “There’s still one thing left to do.”

“Crowley, you’ve done so much for me already.”

“Not quite. I’ve got an ace up my sleeve.”

“Really?” Aziraphale wasn’t persuaded. “Something better than the Ritz? Does something like that even exist?”

Crowley laughed. “You bloody glutton. You may be an angel, but your place in hell is the third circle!”

Aziraphale’s laughter was louder than Crowley’s. By now, he should have been accustomed to Crowley making literary references out of the blue, but sometimes it happened so suddenly that his mind couldn’t keep up.

“I could come visit you up in the second circle, then.”

“Ngk.”

Crowley’s expression was priceless. Comparing him to the lustful was a masterful touch, and Aziraphale smiled to himself for his shrewdness.

When he finally pulled himself together, Crowley shook his head and took something from his pocket. Aziraphale watched as the man offered him two tickets.

“As you like it,” Aziraphale read out loud. “At the Globe.”

Crowley nodded in silence, still waiting for some kind of reaction.

“How could you possibly have found these at such short notice?” Aziraphale was again astonished, but also incredibly grateful. He was on the verge of tears.

“Why then, can one desire too much of a good thing?” Crowley asked, showing his ongoing inclination to make Aziraphale’s heart beat faster whenever he quoted Shakespeare.

He had to, no– he needed to show his immense gratitude to Crowley. He placed his hand on his elbow to stop him. Crowley simply stared at him, and even if the sunglasses were back on his eyes, Aziraphale could sense that he was brimming with expectation.

Aziraphale reached out his hand, eventually giving in to the yearning that had pervaded him all day. “Give me your hand, Orlando,” he continued Crowley’s previous quote.

When he felt the other man’s fingers intertwine with his, everything just fell into place.

🎄🎄🎄

Aziraphale spent the most of their trip back to Tadfield commenting on the play. Crowley didn’t hold back either, making annotations that made evident to Aziraphale how good an editor he probably was. Apparently, the play had been superbly acted (they had very much enjoyed the performances), but the scenography hadn’t felt totally right. They both recalled other productions’ pros and cons, not only of As you like it. Theatre was clearly another topic they were both well-acquainted with, and words came out from their mouths copiously.

It was late into the night when the Bentley finally halted in front of Bluebell Lodge, and it was strikingly obvious that neither of them wanted this day to end.

Crowley had put his sunglasses away in the glove compartment during the journey, a gesture Aziraphale had felt immensely relieved by (he’d wondered how Crowley could possibly drive with dark lenses at night).

So, now Aziraphale had a very different issue to address: looking Crowley right in the eye and finding the strength to let him go without asking him to come in.

“You were right,” he broke the silence.

“’bout what?”

“This was a great idea.”

Aziraphale smiled to himself, and Crowley turned off the car.

“You, uhm… you don’t have to… walk me in.”

Crowley sat back in his seat.

“I mean, it’s freezing,” Aziraphale continued, “and you must be tired from the long drive–”

“You can just say you don’t want me to come in, Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale was a bit taken aback by his tone, but he understood why his companion might feel disappointed, maybe even hurt by his behaviour.

“It’s not like that, Crowley… I’m just a bit tired, it was a long day and…”

Crowley’s eyes pierced right through his soul, and Aziraphale had no doubt that the man sitting next to him knew exactly what was really going on in his mind.

“It’s not what you’re thinking,” Aziraphale insisted.

“Ok, I’ll pretend I believe you,” said Crowley with the shadow of a smile showing up on his lips.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale sighed, knowing that after what Crowley had done for him today, he owed him the truth. At least some of it. “I’m leaving in seven days, which makes this… complicated.”

“So?”

Aziraphale wrinkled his nose and inhaled deeply. “I don’t think I can handle complicated, right now.”

Crowley nodded, accepting an explanation that sounded like an apology and simply had to be enough. But then he brightly said, “Actually, ‘complicated’ is my middle name.”

“I thought your middle name was just a ‘J’,” Aziraphale recalled.

Crowley giggled and the sound was so enticing that Aziraphale couldn’t help but lean in to kiss it away from his mouth before it could wear off by itself.

It wasn’t a passionate kiss so much as a soft peck, but it was enough to convey feelings of affection that really didn’t help their present conundrum. Crowley held back for a second, looking at the other man with perplexity. Still, he was the one to initiate a second kiss, and this time it tasted like longing and anticipation.

After the kiss, they didn’t move, lips parted, foreheads pressed together in a tender connection that they weren’t yet ready to lose.

“And this doesn’t make it complicated?” Crowley asked, his voice hoarse and low, filled with desire.

“Sex makes everything complicated,” Aziraphale agreed with him. “Even when you don’t have it, apparently. The not having it makes things complicated.”

Crowley pulled back to look him in the eye. “Which is why it’s usually better to have it. I mean– Ngk. When all parties involved agree, obviously.”

Aziraphale chuckled, remembering again how irresistible he found this silly ridiculous man. But he pulled back, knowing that this was for the better.

“Is there anything I can do to convince you to let me in?”

“Plenty,” Aziraphale immediately replied, causing another fit of laughter rippling through the car. “But–”

“But?”

“But… you are a literary editor who lives in England, and I am a professor at Yale. I don’t think a long-distance relationship is your bread and butter.”

“What do you know? Maybe I’m the star of long-distance relationships.”

And even if Crowley’s tone sounded honest, just as the sweet expression on his face, Aziraphale couldn’t let himself hope for something that wasn’t there.

“I am a dull, soft professor and you are… a smart, funny, attractive, sexy man. Extraordinarily attractive and sexy, to be fair.”

This time, Aziraphale had no doubt that Crowley was blushing.

“Yeah, nghhh, well. Saying it twice will only boost my ego.”

“I could say it six thousand times without changing my mind.”

Crowley took his hand in his. True gentleman that he was, he kissed Aziraphale’s knuckles before letting it go. “You really are an angel.”

Crowley then turned the car on.

“Well… I promise I won’t be drunkenly banging on your door any time soon. Tomorrow it’s the 23^rd, let’s begin the Christmas frenzzzzzy!”

“Of course.” Aziraphale was suddenly reminded that it was almost Christmas. And then something happened, and he found the nerve to ask. “You… uhm… obviously you have the cottage number?”

“Obviously,” Crowley mocked his tone, but with a smile on his thin, kissable lips. “So… we’ll see each other again, maybe?” he asked, concealing the hint of hope in his question.

“We’ll figure something out,” Aziraphale nodded tentatively.

“Good night, angel.”

Aziraphale got out of the car, trying to ignore the weird sensation that was starting to possess him.

It was cold outside, now.

But he felt cold inside when he realised that he was going to be alone in his bed for the first time since his arrival to Tadfield.

And as he watched the Bentley disappear from view, he felt, once again, alone.

🎄🎄🎄

December 23rd

Breakfast, alone. Checking up with Gabriel, alone. Lunch, alone. A stroll in the park, alone. Teatime, alone. Shower, alone.

Aziraphale had never felt lonely, never feared solitude. He liked being on his own, reading, studying, writing. It never bothered him when other people made fun of him for being a lonely wolf. His brother appreciated this tendency, because Aziraphale was always available to help him whenever he needed something.

Then why, WHY was he feeling so miserable all of a sudden?

Aziraphale tried to find some peace in his favorite pastime. The Count was still there, waiting for him. But once again, he couldn’t concentrate enough to read.

He couldn’t lie to himself. At the moment, his brain was obsessively focusing on one thing, and one thing only.

Crowley.

“I don’t think I can handle complicated, right now. You IDIOT!” Aziraphale yelled to himself, remembering the stupidest thing he’d said to Crowley the night before.

Crowley, who hadn’t called, of course he hadn’t. When Aziraphale had checked if he had his sibling’s landline number (unbelievable), he surely wasn’t expecting Crowley to actually call him. Hence, he was finding it hard to fathom WHY he felt betrayed for not receiving a phone call.

Aziraphale sighed in exasperation and closed his book, he wouldn’t be reading at all, tonight. He took his laptop, determined to do something. Anything.

And then he had an epiphany.

‘Tadfield Manor. It’s not that far, but it’s an hour walk from town.’

Aziraphale grinned as if God herself had put that smile on his face.

Maybe it was time to ask Tracy for a little help.

🎄🎄🎄

It had been a long walk, but Aziraphale didn’t care.

Finding Tadfield Manor had been easy. Tracy had mentioned that everybody knew where the estate was, seeing that it had always belonged to one of the most prominent families in town.

Aziraphale’s resolution was oddly at its strongest, he’d never felt so sure of wanting something (someone?) so much before.

After all, in the last couple of days he’d been living by the mantra ‘do the unexpected’. And to hell with it (and to hell with his brother in particular) he could be the adventurous type! Sometimes you just need to throw caution to the wind and take a leap of faith.

(And if this leap made him fall into Crowley’s lap, then Aziraphale really didn’t want to miss his chance to fly.)

He checked the contents of his bag one more time: a bottle of wine and some gourmet goodies he’d bought at Tracy’s.

The manor was huge and well-kept; Aziraphale headed towards the front door, gathering his courage. He noticed smoke coming out of the chimney. It looked like Crowley was home.

He finally knocked, hoping that this wouldn’t turn out to be a complete disaster.

No one answered, at first, so he rang the bell.

Aziraphale found himself licking his lips, tension starting to build inside. This time, he heard noises and… a voice? Was that Crowley talking? And then the sound of footsteps, was he walking to–

Suddenly, the door opened. And there he was.

But standing in front of Aziraphale wasn’t the stylish, self-confident, charming man that he’d been getting used to. It was Crowley, yes, but for starters he wasn’t wearing his sunglasses.

Aziraphale noticed that his hair looked a bit messy, not the usual perfect stylish do that surely made men and women fall at his feet. His shirttails hung outside of his trousers, and… oh good Lord, he’s barefoot. How is one supposed to breathe, again?

Crowley’s captivating eyes were staring at him in total amazement and… terror?

“Wh– wh– what are you doing here?” Crowley asked, closing the door behind himself so that Aziraphale couldn’t see anything beyond.

“Uhm– Hello… I was– you know, I was home, and I couldn’t accomplish anything, and I was… well, I was thinking of you.”

It was hard to be so honest and vulnerable with Crowley, but Aziraphale didn’t care. He really needed to take this off his chest.

“Aziraphale–” the other man murmured, looking devastated and desperate.

He ignored him. “Then I realised that maybe a little complicated never hurt anyone in the first place.  

(Aziraphale had been there. Distancing himself from the ‘it’s complicated’ conversation in the Bentley hadn’t been easy. Until his traitorous mind had been flooded by memories of the time spent with Crowley and he’d come to the realisation that he really needed to see him again. Just because he wanted to be with Crowley.)

“Last night I felt so alone,” he went on, “and I thought how silly it was that we were both alone in our houses, well your family houses, just a few miles apart and that maybe instead we could have been together–”

“Angel…” Crowley almost whispered.

“I wanted to apologise. I’m sorry for not letting you in, yesterday. I don’t know what came over me, I just felt a bit weird and scared and… I thought about how you probably spend your nights out, at the pub, after your gigs, surely surrounded by fascinating young people and–”

Aziraphale noticed that Crowley was growing increasingly uncomfortable, and he finally realised.

“Oh… you’re… you’re not alone, are you?” he asked, dread in his voice.

Crowley exhaled slowly. “Nope. I’m not. I’m so sorry, angel.”

But if he wasn’t on his own, why would Crowley still call him angel?

“No!” Aziraphale replied quickly. “Don’t be, please! I shouldn’t have… come… it’s just– Oh, good Lord.”

Crowley looked pained. Like he was physically hurting. “Azirapha–”

“Seriously, do not worry about this. I was just… being silly.”

Aziraphale stepped back, ready to run away from the most embarrassing moment of his life. But he stopped in his tracks, because right then the door behind Crowley opened and someone showed up at his side.

“Who is it, Cro?” a ten-ish year-old kid asked.

Aziraphale looked from the blonde child to Crowley, his amazement difficult to hide behind a forced smile.

“Erm… Aziraphale Eastgate, this is Adam. Adam, this is a friend of mine, Mr Eastgate.”

“Hi!” the boy politely greeted him with a smile. “You comin’ in?”

Aziraphale was so shocked that he didn’t know what to say. Crowley kept looking at him, trying to catch a glimpse of something, anything, to understand what Aziraphale was thinking. With that, the door opened even more and another kid (this time a black-haired boy) took his place next to Adam.

“What’s going on?” the new kid asked.

“Uhm… Warlock, say hi to Aziraphale Eastgate, he’s a friend of mine,” Crowley repeated.

“Hello, Mr Eastgate!”

Aziraphale eventually found his voice again. “Good evening, boys.”

And then, a second epiphany hit Aziraphale, hard.

“Adam… and Warlock,” he stated, remembering the phone calls Crowley had received while they were together.

Crowley let out another sigh and nodded imperceptibly. Aziraphale was glad to have clarified at least this aspect of his previous doubts. Not that he ever had any right to be jealous of Crowley; still, this was at least a fascinating discovery.

Adam and Warlock extended their hands to shake his, formally introducing themselves.

“Wow, your hand is cold,” Warlock noticed.

“I’m sorry!” Aziraphale pulled it back, mortified. “I am a little cold, actually.”

“Don’t stay out there, Mr East! Cro, let him in!” Adam insisted.

Crowley was shook out of his trance. “Ngk. Sure, uh, sure. Do come in, please.”

🎄🎄🎄

As Aziraphale’s eyes fell on the big Christmas tree that sat in the large and surprisingly warm hallway, he looked obviously confused, but not as much as his host. Aziraphale couldn’t see Crowley’s face as he pushed the door closed, but he was squeezing his eyes and screaming internally, knowing that the worst had just happened.

Crowley sighed to himself, he wasn’t ready to turn around and face Aziraphale.

But still, it was time for the demon to show his true face to the angel.

Chapter Text

Three days ago

“Beez! Open the fucking door! I know you’re not asleep, your light is on. Where the fuck is the bloody key? It’s not in the flowerpot!”

Crowley was accustomed to this routine. When he went to the pub and got drunk with his friends, he walked to Bluebell Lodge to crash on the sofa.

His sibling was a nocturnal animal just like him, it usually didn’t take them that long to get down and open the door. What was going on? Were they asleep? And why wasn’t the key in its usual place?

Crowley wasn’t that drunk, was he?

“Beez, it’s me! Get down here and let me in, or I’m going to water your fucking plants, if you know what I mean!” he shouted, hoping that a threat would speed up the process.

At last, Beez opened the door.

Only, it wasn’t them.

Standing in front of him was possibly the most ethereal being Crowley had ever seen in his life.

What the fuck?!

Whilst his brain made peace with the fact he’d lost his ability to breathe, Crowley became terrifyingly aware that his heartbeat was getting quicker.

The man’s curly neat hair (the color was unfathomable, was it white, blonde, ivory?) was so fluffy that it looked like candy floss – no, like a cloud.

He was having an equally hard time defining the colour of the man’s eyes (especially with sunglasses on, but Crowley had a hunch that they were blue, grey or maybe hazel) and he was getting stupidly besotted with that ridiculously cute turned up nose.

The man’s lips were curved into an expression of surprise, because of course Crowley had just knocked on his door in the middle of the night and– wait a minute, I have no fucking idea who this man is!

And were those… vintage clothes? Beige trousers, a bloody waistcoat over a light blue shirt and– oh god, the man was wearing a bowtie. An honest-to-god bowtie around a perfectly round soft neck. (A neck that Crowley was already dying to lick, bite, kiss, not necessarily in that order.)

The light behind the stranger was enveloping the man in a warm embrace, and for a moment Crowley thought he was hallucinating, because it looked like he had a halo around his head.

Add that to the curly white hair, the soft plump cheeks, and the blue eyes, and va-voom, Crowley just got himself a proper earthly angel.

If the realisation that he felt a shiver of attraction in response to this man's appearance startled him, Crowley was even more surprised when he felt his own lips curl into a cheeky, flirty smirk.

“You’re not Beez.”

What is wrong with you? This man could be a– a burglar, a thief, and you’re fucking flirting with him? Where the hell is Beez?!

“Uhm, no, I believe I’m not.”

‘Right. I’m totally fucked,’ was Crowley’s immediate thought after hearing the stranger’s voice. His smirk grew even wider against his will.

“Ghaaa… Sorry for the language, I wasn’t expecting… Well, you.”

Crowley’s intention was to pay this man a compliment, pointing at his attire to convey that he was a good surprise. But then he noticed an awkward expression that looked like suspicion on the stranger’s face.

No, no, what is it? I’m not trying to mock you, I’m just teasing you!

Crowley’s smirk wasn’t going anywhere (fuck, stop it!), but maybe it was a good thing, because the man shook his head and spoke again. “I– I wasn’t expecting you either.”

Fuck.

Breathe. Just breathe.

Crowley’s lips parted as he looked at this ridiculous man in astonishment.

After that, he was let inside and he immediately introduced himself as Beez’ brother, which also gave him a chance to take the man’s hand in his.

And of course, the stranger’s hands were simply as perfect as the rest of him. Just as soft. Perfectly manicured fingers that Crowley was already craving to feel all over himself.

Fuck.

He took the bathroom break to recover and calm down; he really didn’t need to fall head over heels for a stranger. However perfect said stranger was.

When he got out, he finally found out the man’s name.

Aziraphale Eastgate.

For fuck’s sake, even his name is flawless! A proper angel, indeed.

Crowley needed to know what was going on, especially to make sure that Beez was fine.

It was pretty obvious that Aziraphale was no serial killer, he felt too comfortable in his sibling’s house. But then, where the hell was Beez?

Aziraphale told him everything about the stupid home exchange thing, and Crowley couldn’t believe it. He asked Aziraphale if he was joking, if this was a huge, elaborate prank, only to be told, “I’m fairly certain this isn’t a joke, otherwise being here would be a total waste of time.”

The way Aziraphale had stressed out the word total almost made Crowley gasp. He smiled at that sentence. Apparently, the man could be funny in a very unusual and unexpected way. (Crowley loved it.)

They talked a little more about the home switch, and he found out that Beez was in Connecticut. He wasn’t happy about this, he was furious. Beez had left without calling him– what the fuck were they thinking? Crowley said this out loud, pacing frantically from one corner to the other. He was really pissed. But Aziraphale’s voice was soothing, and it really helped Crowley to calm down. That and the man’s quiet and courteous manners. There was something oddly soothing and enticing in Aziraphale, with his posh vocabulary and his elegant posture.

So, Beez was in Connecticut. And Crowley knew that breaking up with Hastur (that fucking sod!) had everything to do with it.

But what was this gorgeous man doing here?

Crowley suddenly needed to know more about him. So much more.

“Let’s just say we probably both needed a change of scenery,” Aziraphale said, clearly not willing to share too much information with a stranger.

Right then, Crowley felt a wave of nausea, probably due to his former snapping and sauntering around the room like a mad man. When Aziraphale offered him something to drink, he obviously asked for coffee. He had the feeling that he would need something to stay awake.

(Or at least he hoped he would.)

He also sensed that Aziraphale probably didn’t know where Beez kept the pods, so he gave instructions. He almost laughed when Aziraphale came back from the kitchen, serving the coffee inside his favorite rainbow mug.

Of course he couldn’t find the coffee cups.

That was as good a time as any to excuse himself for showing up like that, unwanted and unexpected. He didn’t know why, but he wanted Aziraphale to know that he didn’t always behave like that.

“I know it may not seem like it, but I really am Beez’ respectable big brother.”

“You don’t say,” Aziraphale quipped, maybe more to himself than to Crowley. (But Crowley felt the urge to bite the words from his mouth.)

What the f–

“But… on the not so rare occasion that I go into town and get overly wasted at the Dirty Donkey, Beez lets me sleep on their sofa, so I don’t have to get behind the wheel to go home.”

Aziraphale asked him where he lived and it felt completely natural to tell him. He also shared the funny memory of that time Beez had stolen his keys so as not to let him drive. He chuckled to himself, like he always did when he remembered that particular night.

Then Aziraphale claimed that he couldn’t sleep, and Crowley thought it was due to the jetlag, but according to him, he had a lot on his mind lately.

The first real spark between them flared up when Crowley noticed the book on the armchair. He knew his sibling enough to be certain that Beez wasn’t in possession of a copy of The Count of Monte Cristo.

“Like finding the best way to get even with the conte de Morcerf?”

Crowley had meant it as a joke. It was clear that Aziraphale was reading the novel. And to Crowley, it had become second nature to quote books and plays. He couldn’t have imagined that such a statement would cause the other man’s cheeks to turn red. And that little flush of colour was so intriguing that Crowley felt himself blush as well.

‘You – pathetic – arsehole, stop it!’ he mentally scorned himself.

Crowley chose the cowardly way out. Asked how the trip was going.

(Easy, polite, neutral.)

“I mean, before I showed up to spoil your evening.”

Aaaaand apparently now you’re smirking, again. Good job, Crowley, way to go!

Aziraphale mentioned something about Tracy – of course he’d already met her. Tracy was like a celebrity; you couldn’t walk around Tadfield without meeting her. Crowley grinned when the angel described it as a fascinating encounter and– what the fuck, where did that come from?!

It seemed that Crowley’s brain was referring to him as the angel, now.

And then, just out of the blue, Aziraphale was… sharing.

Like, really, sharing.

He told Crowley how he’d decided to leave on an impulse after breaking up with his partner (and, clearly, the news that Aziraphale was single wasn’t good for his nerves, and it was even worse for his blood vessels, considering that he immediately felt all his blood flowing down to– don’t go there!).

Crowley tried to act as a human being and do the nic– the right thing.

He offered some comfort, like a friend would have done.

“Sometimes it’s easier to spill your guts with a total stranger, eh?”

After that, everything felt easier. They kept up the already familiar banter and Aziraphale offered him a glass of Merlot in the kitchen.

When Crowley made a reference to the fact that his name wasn’t that common, and that Aziraphale’s parents were probably fans of angel mythology, the look on the angel’s (again!) face was of pure astonishment. According to Aziraphale, people didn’t usually know the origin of his name. Crowley couldn’t believe this; it was so obvious to him.

“Whatever, it doesn’t matter. It’s just tickety-boo.”

Crowley couldn’t help but smile at that. He mouthed that silly expression without really using his voice, just wanting to feel how it would taste on his lips. He’d never heard something more ridiculous and insanely adorable at the same time.

‘Tickety-boo’. You must be fucking kidding me.

But it was getting late, and Crowley wasn’t in any state to drive back home, so he got back to their initial issue. The sleeping arrangements.

After reminding Aziraphale that he wasn’t in a relationship anymore (also that he wasn’t in one yet– good job with the non-flirting thing, by the way), he promised to leave in the morning.

“I’ll be gone before you even wake up, you won’t have to lay eyes on me ever again, angel.”

Oh, fuck.

And now, he’d called him angel. Out loud.

Crowley bit his lips and couldn’t help it as a silent ‘fuck’ came out of his mouth.

“I’m sorry, that was totally uncalled for. I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable,” angel, he mentally added at the end of his apology.

But Aziraphale wasn’t disappointed or angry. He was– was that… delight?!

The man told Crowley that someone used to call him angel, someone that wasn’t there anymore. And he had enjoyed the term of endearment.

‘I enjoyed it.’

Crowley was beaming, and he couldn’t avoid it.

There was something magical in this ridiculous angel, something that lit up his soul. He hadn’t felt like this since– had he ever felt like this?

They were both blushing now, and they certainly couldn’t blame the warmth in the room.

Aziraphale agreed to let him stay and that was a good opportunity for Crowley to get back to the safety of their previous bantering.

“They like it when people are bad with me. ‘S a bit of the sadistic kind, my sibling.”

“Does it run in the family?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Crowley was practically begging the angel to tease him.

Maybe it was all in his head (judging from the look on Aziraphale’s face, it wasn’t), but he intended to find out where this already fucked up night would lead them.

The angel kept himself busy with the retrieval of a blanket and a pillow, which were quickly thrown on the sofa. It felt final, and Crowley didn’t want to push the angel into doing something he would later regret. But then, Aziraphale voiced out one of the most incorrect assumptions Crowley had ever heard in his life.

“You were expecting a familiar face and you found me. How disappointing.”

He needed to rectify this. He couldn’t let Aziraphale think that meeting him tonight hadn’t been the highlight of his day, of his week, of his fucking month!

He closed the gap between them.

“Disappointing is not the first word that comes to my mind when I think of you appearing at the other side of the door.”

Their lips were almost touching. Crowley would literally die to feel the angel’s lips moving under his. What he wouldn’t do to touch that tempting arse, to feel the angel’s skin under his lips, to take him in the most wicked possible way!

But he wouldn’t. He couldn’t.

(Look at that, you were almost convincing.)

“I– I– I bid you adieu, then.”

Ok, fuck that. I CAN.

“Goodnight, angel.”

Crowley leaned in and kissed Aziraphale. His lips were as soft as he’d thought they would be and surrendering to them felt like he’d finally earned heaven.

Crowley wished the angel ‘sweet dreams’ because he didn’t know what else to do. And then, Aziraphale blushed and asked for more. He didn’t have to ask him twice. Crowley was eager to repeat the experience, and this time he also fulfilled his hands’ wish to touch the soft skin under the angel’s chin (so delicate).

Crowley was afraid to rush things, but a second kiss had already been enough to make him hard. When he pulled back, Crowley was grinning like an idiot.

And out of the blue, the angel was standing.

‘Too much space between us, angel’, Crowley thought.

He wanted to know what was going on in that lovely mind. Could the kiss have been… bad?

“It was… weird, you know? Kissing a total stranger.”

“Is that all? I do it all the time!”

Crowley mentally chastised himself for that comment. He’d intended it like a joke, a silly consideration, but it was evident that it meant something different to Aziraphale. He was pacing back and forth, and Satan only knew what kind of incorrect assumptions about Crowley were starting to fill the angel’s mind. He decided to derail whatever train of thought was aggravating him. He took Aziraphale’s wrist in his hand (bloody hell, his skin is so soft), gently inviting him to sit back on the sofa.

Right then, something totally unexpected happened.

Aziraphale moved his hand to touch Crowley’s face, catching himself before his fingers could actually touch him.

The angel was aiming for the glasses.

Crowley’s breath became uneven. This was unprecedented.

Whenever he met someone new – which happened a lot – he took off his glasses only when he and the one-nighter finally got to the car, the hotel room, the bedroom – wherever it was that they would spend the next hour or so.

(So, only when there was no actual chance of making eye contact.)

Crowley did not do long-term relationships anymore, or anything deserving to be defined as such. The matter of watching the other person right in the eye, without the armor provided by his sunglasses, wasn’t an option anymore.

And yet, when Aziraphale asked him if he could take them off, he didn’t have it in him to say ‘no’, to act like he usually did around his one-time lovers.

Crowley nodded his consent, because this was no ordinary man. This was an angel.

A weird feeling was growing inside of him, the impression of being almost mystically connected to this man. It was something Crowley couldn’t quite define. (Yet.) Something that pushed him over the edge. Voluntarily.

When he felt the glasses slide off his eyes, he lowered his gaze. He felt like he could trust the angel, but he couldn’t cope with the fear of showing his true self to someone else. There were only a bunch of people who’d actually had the chance to see Crowley’s eyes, and two of them were dead.

It wasn’t easy being that vulnerable around a complete stranger. (Not even an angelic stranger.)

Too late, he couldn’t hold back anymore.

Crowley inhaled deeply and looked straight at Aziraphale.

(At least it was worth it just to get the chance to determine the color of his irises.)

Here they were.

No more barriers, no more walls. Just sheer vulnerability. What a bloody weird night.

Aziraphale closed his eyes, letting Crowley take the lead. And Crowley kissed him lovingly and softly, at first, starting from his eyelids and tracing a path down to his mouth. Their third kiss was pure bliss. Crowley was a bundle of longing in his need to feel more, to taste more. He used his tongue to part the angel’s lips, gaining new access to his mouth. And savouring Aziraphale’s tongue felt just glorious.

Tickety-boo.

Crowley had already made up his mind, but Aziraphale spoke first. Crowley was affected, of course, but the angel was too.

“And now you’ve showed up, and you’re like… preposterously good looking and I believe you’re also drunk and I’m pretty sure you won’t even remember my name tomorrow…”

How could the angel possibly think that Crowley would ever forget his name? He wanted to moan his name in the heat of the moment, to whisper it before taking him into his mouth. He needed to scream his name while coming all over that soft belly. (And terrifyingly enough, he wanted to call him angel in the aftermath, while holding Aziraphale in his arms as he lulled him to sleep.)

I will remember your name till the end of time.

“What I’m trying to say is that… we could have sex. If you are amenable.”

There it was. Aziraphale had finally asked. Thank Someone.

Four little words threatening to change Crowley’s world. And not only for tonight, maybe even after.

I need to be with him. There’s no fucking way I’m letting him sleep upstairs without me.

Crowley’s turned on expression probably gave out his intentions; he was basically staring at the angel as if ready to devour him, swallowing him whole with his gaze.

I want to eat him up like a cream crumpet.

Crowley confirmed that he was totally amenable – god, this fucking ridiculous man! – and then he listened to Aziraphale’s incoherent speech about doing unexpected things (‘Yeah, I really would like you to do the unexpected’, he told him).

Aziraphale found him funny, which was… fresh. No other man had ever said that to Crowley before taking him to bed. (To be fair, there weren’t so many words involved when he shagged someone he’d just met at the Donkey.)

When the angel said that he came with the complete package, Crowley couldn’t stand it anymore. He burst out laughing, delighted by the fact that Aziraphale was a bit of a bastard.

They finally got themselves a deal. An arrangement.

They were going to have sex.

Crowley was already proceeding with the undressing when Aziraphale confessed that he wasn’t very good at the sex thing.

Of all the stupid things I’ve ever heard–

Worse. Aziraphale knew that he wasn’t particularly attractive.

All right, we need to stop this madness.

That fucking arsehole of an ex had clearly done a number on the poor angel.

How dared he say that sex with Aziraphale wasn’t good?

(Not that Crowley knew anything about sex with Aziraphale, yet, but he was ready to bet that he would never forget this night.)

Then they talked a bit about the angel’s past experiences. He asked if he usually enjoyed sex; Crowley wanted to have all the information before getting into bed with him. He wanted Aziraphale to feel safe around him. And when he realised this would probably be his first time after a while and that Aziraphale liked sex if he was with the right person, Crowley couldn’t help but hope he could be that right person for him.

And then something magical happened.

“One may say I can be a sex-enthusiast, when I’m doing it with the right person.”

Crowley felt himself burning. There was no way he wasn’t blushing now. Out of the blue, Aziraphale had just become the sexiest man Crowley had ever met. The need to woo him, cherish him, take care of him became an imperative necessity.

“I talked you out of it, didn’t I?”

Oh, angel. You have no idea.

“No. Not at all. You should know that the complete package comes with a satisfied or refunded policy.” Crowley said as he toyed with Aziraphale’s bowtie (good, apparently he wasn’t capable of keeping his bloody hands to himself). “I’m going to blow your mind, angel.”

It was up to Crowley to make Aziraphale understand that sex could be awesome and intimate and wonderful, if you liked that sort of thing and had someone taking care of you.

Tonight, Crowley could be that right person for Aziraphale.

Still, when the angel walked backwards to lead him upstairs, Crowley had the distinct feeling (read: fear) that his life was about to change.

Whether for better or for worse, he didn’t know, yet.

But one thing was for certain.

He – was – fucked.

🎄🎄🎄

Two days ago

The morning after, Crowley woke up alone. He knew his surroundings enough to remember that he’d spent the night at the cottage, in the guest bedroom.

With Aziraphale.

Fuck.

He looked around and noticed that the angel was nowhere to be seen. It wasn’t hard to imagine him downstairs, probably having breakfast.

Without warning, Crowley’s mind was haunted by images of the previous night. All the teasing, the touching, the licking, the biting (fuck, those thighs, Crowley would have dreams about them for years to come), the kissing. How the angel’s skin had felt smooth and soft under his fingers.

Taking care of Aziraphale had felt like heaven. He still couldn’t believe the idiocy of his former partner (that wanker) who’d implied that his angel wasn’t– Oh, great, now he’s my angel.

Of course, the idiot didn’t know how to worship someone so perfect.

Just the memory of the taste of the angel in his mouth was enough to increase the already embarrassing situation between his legs (and to make him yearn for another round of that thick cock down his throat).

Crowley’s mind was blown away at the reminder of how good it had felt to come on top of Aziraphale, moaning his name like a prayer. How he’d licked that soft belly to clean away his mess in a furious horny madness and–

Shit. Shit. Shit!

(His hand flew to his crotch, gripping his cock in a vain attempt at stopping his erection from growing out of control.)

This wasn’t right.

This wasn’t right because it felt right.

And with Crowley’s former lovers, it never felt right. Having sex with them was just a means to an end, for everyone involved. Encounters to blow off steam, a way to spend an enjoyable night. It was sex, nothing more. Good, bad, mediocre, acceptable. Blowjobs, handjobs, if he felt particularly creative, also fingering and – on the rare occasions he liked the other person sufficiently – a spot of frottage in the back seat of the Bentley.

It was never like this. With the whole aftermath package, yearning to cuddle, and caressing, and watching the other man sleep, and waking up beside him. (Wanting to have him in his mouth again, or take him in Beez’ uncommonly big shower.)

Crowley dragged himself out of bed. He found his underwear and his jeans and put them on with an idiotic grin on his face. He could swear he’d never smiled so much in his entire life.

The sunglasses had somehow ended up on the bedside table, so he put them back on. Maybe it was a good thing to have some kind of shield before facing the angel. Maybe the dark lenses would protect him from the shiny halo of marvel and beauty radiating from the man.

He found his shirt crumpled at the foot of the bed and he picked it up, but he was so eager to see Aziraphale that he simply took it down with him.

He rushed down the stairs, singing one of his favorite Queen songs on autopilot.

I’d like for you and I to go romancing
Say the word, your wish is my command

What the–

Great, now I am singing one of the sexiest songs ever in relation to Aziraphale!

This was just awesome; the angel had ruined the song for him forever.

How could Crowley get on stage to perform it and not think about him, from now on?

And yet, he couldn’t help himself. He kept singing through his favorite part until he found himself in the kitchen.

Hey, boy, where do you get it from?
Hey, boy, where did you go?
I learned my passion in the good old-fashioned school of lover boys

(Ok, maybe leaving his trousers unbuttoned had been a little too much, but he couldn’t resist: Aziraphale was practically eye-fucking him when Crowley leaned casually against the doorframe.)

‘The smugness, Crowley, tone it down a bit, will you?’ he mentally admonished himself.

So, when Aziraphale offered to make him coffee, he decided to bring it down a notch and put his shirt on. He took his time, though. And when he noticed Aziraphale hesitating in front of the coffee machine, he also took the opportunity to be close to him again, his fingers delicately touching the angel’s.

“How silly, I– I couldn’t find the right switch.”

And what could a man do when an angel said something like that?

“I’m always amenable to help you find the right switch, angel.”

Crowley was enjoying this. But it was also past eight right now, and he really needed to go. He’d promised the kids to call them in the morning. He felt a bit guilty when he realised that he hadn’t really thought about Adam and Warlock until now. It usually didn’t happen when he went out with other men.

Before Aziraphale.

(The realisation that from now on his life would be split into two different ages – Before Aziraphale and After Aziraphale – hit him. Hard.)

When Aziraphale offered to make him something, Crowley refused. He wasn’t a morning eater– that wasn’t a lie, more a half-truth.

And just like that, it was time to say goodbye. To excuse himself from this man’s life. This wonderful man’s life. Crowley knew what to say, he was so familiar with The Speech that he could recite it by heart.

It’s not you, it’s me. I’m a mess, I’m not boyfriend material. This night was fabulous, but I’m a lonely wolf. Call me again if you want to have some fun, will you? Not that I’m going to ever pick-up.

So, how come those same words sounded so not-right for the angel? Crowley couldn’t muster up the courage to let him down. He couldn’t stand the idea of disappointing him.

And maybe, just maybe… he also didn’t want to let him go.

But before Crowley could understand what was going on in his mind, Aziraphale spoke. And it wasn’t the usual ‘What have I done wrong’ speech. The angel was telling him not to worry about this. The nerve!

Crowley needed to take something off his chest, because he couldn’t let Aziraphale go without confessing that the sex had been great, that he was great.

“By the way, your ex was an idiot. And he was so wrong about you.”

And of course now he was blushing, because how could he not? He was so fond of this ridiculous man that he didn’t know how to be around him. And when Aziraphale suggested that maybe Crowley had considered the sex good because he was drunk, it felt like a stab. He wasn’t that drunk!

He really wanted to investigate further, but right then his phone buzzed on the table.

And shit, Adam was calling!

Crowley didn’t want to leave to answer, not now; he would call Adam and Warlock later. There was time. He put away the phone, hoping that Aziraphale wouldn’t notice his embarrassment. But the call had felt like an alarm bell, and now he was getting back to reality. He needed to go home and take care of things.

Crowley was working from home today, his last day of work before the Christmas break, but the kids were already home from school. And the fact that they were staying at their grandparents for a couple of days didn’t change his urgency to check on them and see if everything was good.

On the other hand, for the first time in his life, Crowley didn’t want to leave a man without a proper explanation. But Crowley had a rule. One single rule. Never, ever put the kids into the equation. His sex life wasn’t his family life. The two things couldn’t collide. Not now, not ever.

That was why he never spoke of the children with his sex partners. And that was the main reason why his lovers never went beyond one-night-stand status.

However, when Crowley heard Aziraphale say goodbye with a laconic, ‘Mind how you go,’ he couldn’t take it. He wouldn’t leave it at that. He let the angel know that his life was a mess, that he wouldn’t like to date him. And yet again, Aziraphale astonished him by saying that he was in a weird place himself right now and they hardly knew each other.

“Well, I wouldn’t say that after last night. I mean, things got… very biblical.”

Aziraphale chuckled. (And Crowley gasped. In his mind.)

“You don’t need to draw on angel mythology to flatter me, Crowley.”

This bloody… cute, brilliant, soft, angelic… perfect human being. Crowley had never met someone like him, he was so fascinated with Aziraphale that he wanted to shout it.

But he was a bloody coward, so of course he didn’t.

He simply remarked that Aziraphale was probably better off without him.

“Exactly.”

Exactly.

And what was that? Did he seriously believe that Crowley would probably hate knowing him better?

‘I don’t know if I’m sure about that,’ he thought, realising that he’d also mumbled it.

Crowley really meant it. Had things been different, if Adam and Lock hadn’t been in the picture, if Aziraphale hadn’t been staying just for a few days… he had the feeling it would have been great, between them.

Really, fucking great.

Like soulmate levels of great. Like… ‘I feel like I’ve known you for six thousand years’ great.

Crowley found his coat and aimed for the door, still not finding the strength to leave.

“I just… want to be sure that you’re really okay with this, because my sentimental life is like… disaster-coded, and sometimes I tend to hurt people simply by being myself. Emotions are pretty off the table for me, and–”

“I am not going to fall in love with you, Crowley.”

Ouch.

So that’s how it is?

Right, well–

“And it’s not about you. I’m starting to think that I can’t fall in love, that I’m not cut out for it. Not like other people, anyway.”

Crowley wondered again what kind of sick prick Aziraphale’s ex was. Why was this amazing man convinced that he couldn’t fall in love?

Sure, Crowley thought that about himself, too. Most of the time, actually.

But most of the time wasn’t now.

So, that was it. They hadn’t exchanged numbers, so Aziraphale wouldn’t call him. Which was neither here nor there, seeing that Crowley had Beez’ house phone number.

Right. This hadn’t been a date. Crowley was good to go. He didn’t owe Aziraphale anything. They didn’t need to see each other again. It had just been an incredible night of perfectly blissful sex, no strings attached. Crowley put some space between them, feeling the need for fresh air.

But as much as he knew that this thing – whatever it was – was over, he couldn’t accept it.

So, he heard himself ask the angel to meet him at the Donkey that night.

“If you change your mind, or, or– if you want to go out, have some fun… I’m meeting some friends at the Donkey tonight, and, mghhh. I’ll be there. With them. Right, yeah.”

Way to go, Crowley. Well done. There goes the last bit of self-esteem you had.

(But did he really care?)

If giving into temptation would allow him to see the angel again, wasn’t it worth it?

“If we don’t see each other again, I just wanted to say–”

He groaned, struggling to find the right words. But he really wanted to say it, just the one time.

“You’re gorgeous, angel.”

And then he made his great exit and left before Aziraphale had a chance to answer.

🎄🎄🎄

With Warlock and Adam at their grandparents, Crowley had spent the day trying to focus on work, which had turned out to be a lost cause.

Whenever he’d tried to make an annotation, all he could think about was Aziraphale.

Aziraphale’s eyes, Aziraphale’s hands, Aziraphale’s hair, Aziraphale’s thighs.

It was getting rather distracting. Frustrating, even.

Fortunately, Crowley wasn’t on a deadline. The client had only just sent him the book, he wasn’t expecting anything from him before mid-January, but Crowley usually preferred getting a head start, at least as much as he liked being considered as the best editor in the London area for completing his tasks scrupulously and on the dot.

Apparently, this wasn’t going to happen this time, because his mind was fixated on a bloody angel with light hair and a turned-up nose.

He rubbed his eyes in frustration as he recalled Aziraphale’s moans as Crowley took him in his mouth, the way his body had squirmed under his ministrations, how soft and deliciously sweaty the flesh of his thighs had tasted under his teeth as he bit them delicately.

Fuck, that thought alone was enough to make him hard again.

After dinner, he video-called the kids to see how they were doing and to let them know that he was going out with his friends.

Adam and Warlock were used to Crowley going out with Shax, Furfur, Erik and Beez. What they didn’t know was that whenever they spent the night elsewhere, Crowley went out to seek a very different kind of fun. Generally, in pursuit of an insignificant someone to hook up with.

He was glad when he could avoid lying to them. When he told them that he would meet with his friends tonight at 10.30, he was being honest. Nevertheless, when he hung up, he felt guilty because he knew that he was desperately hoping for a special someone to come and meet him at the pub. But Adam and Warlock would never know about this, and that was the only truth that mattered.

Crowley was taken aback by his intense desire to see the angel. He couldn’t refrain from this sense of longing, yearning. He needed to see Aziraphale again. Possibly, to have a chance to touch him again. This was unfamiliar territory. (And it scared the hell out of him.)

He drove to town in a trance, trying to breathe and calm down. He left the Bentley not too far from the pub, memorising the parking spot.

Had he put too much care in his personal attire? No more than usual, certainly. He’d only made sure of wearing his lucky garment, a stylish thin dark grey scarf that (let’s be honest) made him look just as fuckable as one would hope. But tonight, he didn’t want to just look sexy. He wanted to amaze the angel (in case he was there).

When he got inside the pub, Crowley frantically looked around for him.

Please, be here.

He looked right and left, but there was no trace of Aziraphale. Then his eyes fell on his friends, a party of three waiting for him with smiles on their faces. Trying to hide his disappointment, he joined them.

“There you are, shithead!” Furfur said to him. “Been here for thirty seconds, already found someone to fuck off with?”

Crowley chuckled in response to a joke that would have been pretty close to the truth on any other night, but that now sounded bittersweet. Tonight, for ineffable reasons, Crowley wasn’t amused.

(All right, maybe the reasons weren’t that ineffable and they wore tartan and looked like an angel.)

When he took off his coat to put it on the chair, Crowley looked up once more and finally caught a glimpse of white-blonde curls across the room.

Aziraphale was sitting in the corner, shining under a lamp that lit his head like he had a fucking halo. And Crowley’s poor heart had never felt so delighted and relieved at the same time. His lips turned into the stupidest besotted smile, but it was worth it.

Because Aziraphale grinned too, as soon as they locked eyes. And the angel was beaming when he raised his hand to wave at Crowley in the cutest, silliest possible way.

Crowley’s legs moved on their own accord to join him.

🎄🎄🎄

First things first, Crowley needed to reassure Aziraphale that his arsehole friends could wait. He spent time with the wankers almost every night, they weren’t his first concern right now.

Secondly, he had to break the ice, maybe with some of his best flirty remarks. He could do it.

Too bad that Aziraphale had decided to do it the hard way, tonight: he was flirting just as shamelessly as Crowley was planning to.

“I’m really surprised to see you here. I didn’t think you’d come.”

“That’s why you were looking for me when you got inside?”

Ngk.

Smirk. Yes, that always works.

“Who says I was looking for you?”

“You weren’t?”

For fuck’s sake, the angel is on fire tonight!

“As I said, you are a bit of a bastard.”

Right, two can play this game.

Crowley took the glass from Aziraphale’s hand. Their fingers touched for a second, and the jolt of electricity that sparkled between them was so intense that Crowley felt a shiver zip down his spine.

He drank some wine and then he purposely licked his lips (to taste its flavour, certainly, but most importantly to tease the angel).

Crowley invited him to join him and his friends at their table. And for the first time, he noticed a hint of doubt in the angel, who claimed that ‘he wasn’t good around other people’. But this wasn’t possible, because Aziraphale had been extremely good around him. Like holily-good.

Crowley had promised himself that he wouldn’t call him angel anymore, but the pet name slipped out of his mouth as soon as Aziraphale complimented him by saying one of the sweetest things any human being had ever told him. He’d just described him as ‘an uncommonly beautiful stranger’.

(How Crowley was managing not to turn into a puddle of burning goo, he wouldn’t know. He was practically melting inside.)
Sensing that Aziraphale needed some time to get accustomed to the idea of spending the night with other strangers, he decided to stall. Crowley introduced himself properly (shit, last night he hadn’t even said his full name) and he found out that Aziraphale was a professor at Yale.

That was when things got interesting. He started a little fun game of trying and guessing. And he temptingly started to play with the angel’s bowtie. Because of course, he couldn’t keep his fucking fingers to himself.

He needed to touch it and make things harder for himself. (Several things, to be precise.)

Finding out that Aziraphale taught Comparative literature and English wasn’t really a wild guess. It was made pretty obvious by his posh English accent and the fact that he spoke like a printed book. But the game had given Crowley the chance to find out that Aziraphale was born in England. And this was something he would definitely investigate further. Later.

Now, it was show-time. Maybe he wasn’t a professor, but Crowley was a fucking brilliant literary editor. He could hold his own in this kind of contest. It was his turf.

He thought about Shakespeare and his favorite plays. Then he thought about the angel.

And he recited the first line that came to his mind when he matched these two things together.

I’ll follow thee and make a heaven of hell, to die upon the hand I love so well.

Oh, the satisfaction he felt when he spotted the look of astonishment on Aziraphale’s face.

He was speechless.

Crowley decided to take the man out of his misery with an explanation. He told him that he preferred the funny plays. Which was, in fact, true.

And then they were interrupted by Erik. And Crowley wished for a second that he were a demon with the ability to snap his fingers and make people disappear.

They exchanged pleasantries and info about the home switch, then Erik asked them to join them at their table before getting back to their friends, leaving Crowley once again alone with the angel. Aziraphale still looked diffident. It was up to Crowley to make him feel comfortable.

“I wouldn’t want to spoil your evening.”

Aziraphale’s puppy look was too much, even for Crowley. He flashed him the softest smile and told him, “You could have spoiled this evening only by not coming, Aziraphale.”

He took his hand to lead him towards his mates’ table. They were wankers, but curiously enough, he wanted the angel to meet them. (Again, totally unfamiliar.)

“If it wasn’t completely obvious already, I’m glad you’re here, angel,” he heard himself confess.

Aziraphale blushed again, but he followed Crowley. Trusted him. Crowley squeezed the angel’s hand a bit tighter.

“So – fucking – glad.”

And when Aziraphale replied ‘me too’, Crowley felt his shell crumble.

I’m in trouble.

🎄🎄🎄 

Crowley had to deal with his mates. He needed to instruct them on how to be around Aziraphale, because he couldn’t forget rule number one. Never talk about the kids. As if they were in a general audiences version of Fight Club.

So, he took his chance when the angel excused himself to go to the loo and spoke as rapidly as he could.

“If you don’t want to be sentenced to spend an eternity in the Dung Pits, don’t even think about mentioning Adam and Warlock. Understood?” he threatened them.

“We know the rules, Crowley,” Shax reassured him.

“I know, I just– I just– I don’t want one of you idiots to say something about them, ok?”

“Haven’t you just met this guy?” Erik asked.

“Last night, yeah.”

“Why would he be different? You never tell other men about the children!” Furfur reminded him.

“I know, but–” Crowley felt cornered.

“Ohhhh I see!” Erik giggled, soon joined by Shax and Furfur. “You like this one!”

“I don’t!” Crowley complained. He was lying, and he knew it.

“You doooo!” Furfur mocked him.

“Did you take off your glasses?” Erik asked.

“Did you sing for him?” Shax went on.

“Oh, fuck off you lot!” Crowley yelled back.

When Aziraphale came back, they spent a nice evening, and they almost made it until the end without fucking it up. But when the Queen playlist came on, they spilled the beans about the tribute band. Which was something Crowley was really proud of, even if it was just a hobby.

“I thought you were a literary editor?”

“That’s my day job,” he teased back.

“But he turns into a demonic slut at night,” Erik cracked up, along with the other two.

Then Furfur signed his death sentence by saying, “Well, not so much since Adam and–”

Crowley kicked his shins under the table. Of course, the bloody sod was telling the angel that Crowley’s band had performed less often since he’d adopted the kids. He could just hope that Aziraphale was too tipsy to notice.

They spoke more about the band, about the upcoming New Year’s Eve concert. And Crowley’s heart broke a little when Aziraphale reminded him that he would already be gone by then.

🎄🎄🎄

Crowley knew that they had been drinking too much. He couldn’t care less, though.

Walking home with Aziraphale and talking about fish, dolphins and the like, he was having the time of his life. He remembered Ana’s collection, one of her favorite things; Warlock and Adam loved it so much that he’d displayed it on a shelf in the lounge.

Then he remembered that he wasn’t supposed to talk about Ana with the angel, so he subtly changed the topic. Whales. Big brains. Brain city, whales.

They entered the cottage and, in the familiarity of that night-time routine, he called for Beez. But they weren’t there, were they? Beez was abroad, otherwise the angel wouldn’t be here. With him.

On some level, on some very little, infinitesimal level, Crowley knew that he shouldn’t be doing what he was about to do. The safest, healthiest thing would be to say goodnight and sleep on the sofa. (The same fucking sofa he hadn’t had a chance to sleep on last night.)

Even better, go home. Sure, he would freeze his arse off, but at least he would cool down. And for Satan’s sake, he needed to cool down.

But Crowley wasn’t really known for doing the smart thing. The rational thing. The right thing.

Well, if you’ve got to go, then go with style.

One glance at his mouth on Aziraphale’s part, and what was left of Crowley’s resolution disappeared into thin air. He felt his hands acting on their own accord, taking the angel by the lapels of his jacket to push him against the wall while he claimed his mouth in a devouring kiss.

Unfamiliar territory was now a fucking understatement.

Crowley almost never granted a second time to anyone. And when he’d had in the past, it never felt… right.

Why does it feel so right?

What was with this man that captivated Crowley so much that he couldn’t keep his hands off him? Even now, with Aziraphale’s neck exposed so that he could have better access to it, Crowley simply couldn’t behave himself.

“Stay?”

He had never heard a single more erotic four-letter word in his entire life. He couldn’t think straight; they were both too intoxicated (was it the alcohol? the arousal?) to consider the implications of their choices.

“You sure?” he managed to ask.

And then this fucking gorgeous man took off his glasses, performing such an outrageous act with his eyes fixed on Crowley’s the entire time.

As if those blue-green irises already belonged to him and only him.

Crowley could seriously lose himself inside that ocean.

“I will live in thy heart, die in thy lap, and be buried in thy eyes.”

Oh, I see what you’re doing there.

Nice move, angel. Get all mushy and romantic on me, see if I fucking care. Like you quoting Shakespeare by heart while drunk is doing things to me. Like it’s making me feel questionable things that I undoubtedly shouldn’t be feeling.

“Much Ado is allowed. And you would be a fantastic Benedick.”

Crowley was partly aroused, partly amused by that consideration. “Ok, now I know you’re fucking with me.”

“I hope so.”

Fuck.

(In the end, Crowley did have that second round of Aziraphale’s cock down his throat, and the moans coming from the drunken angel’s mouth while he swallowed him as he came would haunt him for the rest of his days.)

Chapter Text

Yesterday

Waking up and doing the walk of shame for the second time in two days was a rather different experience. Crowley dressed up and went downstairs before Aziraphale. If he had to be honest, he couldn’t cope with the sight of the sleeping angel beside him. He made such a cherubic, marvelous vision, that when Crowley had opened his eyes and was confronted with the soft smile on Aziraphale’s face he almost had a visceral Stendhalian reaction.

All right, best course of action. Get the fuck out of here and don’t look back. If you’re lucky, you get to see him again tomorrow, or the day after, or in two days.

And then you go your separate ways and remember meeting him like the fucking awesome moment of pure bliss and perfection that it was.

(Alas, we’ve already established that Crowley wasn’t very good at doing the right thing.) Ok, to be honest the prospect of never being with the angel again was intolerable. The mere thought of it made Crowley’s collar tighten around his throat, like he couldn’t breathe well.

At that very moment, Aziraphale popped up in front of him, clearly still hungover from the night before. And that vision was so cozy and intimate that Crowley almost couldn’t deal with it.

Almost.

“I vividly remember you quoting Shakespeare to trick me into your bed.”

Aziraphale’s flush of embarrassment was – oh so worth it.

“If you thought I was teasing you, why did you stay?”

“Because you asked me to.”

Well done, you idiot, keep up with the honesty thing. Like any good may come from it!

What followed was a long unexpected confession that had Crowley basically gloating. The angel insisted that he’d never behaved like that before, following his instincts, acting light-heartedly. Especially after meeting Crowley. He was a crucial factor, then.

The angel was having fun, and Crowley could only thank someone for the chance to see this side of Aziraphale; he had the distinct feeling that it was usually well concealed.

Crowley moved his hand across the table; he really wanted to touch Aziraphale, he needed to pass some of what he was feeling on to him.

But then, his telephone buzzed. Again.

Shit.

Warlock was calling, and this time Crowley couldn’t escape a conversation, because he hadn’t been in touch with the kids since yesterday, and he needed to schedule an appointment to go fetch them.

Unless…

A terrible, tempting idea was taking over Crowley’s mind. But he needed to ask the kids about it.

Crowley excused himself and ran outside to answer the call.

“Hey, kid. What’s up?”

“Hi, Cro. Adam’s being a bitch, but we’re having fun at granny’s.”

“Good, good.”

Crowley wasn’t a selfish man. His first rule was the only thing that mattered to him. But today, for the first time in months (years?) he felt the sudden and powerful need to be a little selfish. Just for once. And the kids shouldn’t really know about it, should they? They were home for the holidays, maybe they would be glad to spend more time with their grandparents.

Or maybe Crowley was fooling himself because he wasn’t ready to leave the angel behind.

“Listen, Lock, I was thinking… would you mind staying with Lara and Phillip today? I’ve– I’ve got some work to catch up on, if we want to be together and do something nice for the rest of the school break.”

“Did you ask if we can stay?” another voice broke into their conversation; it was Adam’s.

“What– what is he saying?” Crowley asked Warlock.

“Well, we actually wanted to ask you to stay here one more day. Grandad has tickets for the game… you never take us to the stadium, so we thought–”

Crowley burst out laughing, secretly thanking his lucky star. Of course there was a fucking football match. And the kids wanted to go, they loved going to the stadium with their grandad.

“Ok, kid, it looks like you’ve got yourselves a deal,” Crowley agreed.

“I’m sorry you aren’t coming with us.”

“You know I’m not into sports, Warlock. And if I had to choose, you know I’d pick Chelsea anytime.”

“Blasphemy!” Warlock screamed, his Arsenal-fan-heart probably exploding in his chest.

Crowley chuckled and said his goodbyes, promising he would fetch them the following day.

By the looks of things, he’d just bought himself a free day to spend with the angel, if he could convince him to agree. When Crowley got back inside the cottage, still shivering from the cold, Aziraphale was washing the cups in the sink.

Looking for a neutral topic to start a conversation, his eyes fell on the laptop screen, and Crowley felt the urge to express his delight at the fascinating desktop image.

He couldn’t imagine that this would lead to another moment of awkwardness in which Aziraphale showed his incredulity for the fact that Crowley knew what he was talking about.

Of course I know about the stars, I am a bloody expert! (Read: nerd.)

And yet, he realised that he’d never felt prouder of a compliment on his knowledge, before.

“I reckon you love astronomy?”

“There are so many things you don’t know about me, angel.”

“Yes, I can see that,” Aziraphale whispered back.

Crowley didn’t know if it was the angel’s tone of voice or the lost look in his eyes. But the conversation was turning to what he’d been hoping for in the last few minutes.

He’d asked the kids to prolong their stay because he wanted to be with Aziraphale. Because he needed to know him better.

“I think we should go into town.”

There you go. The cards were on the table. Maybe it took Aziraphale a while to catch up on his invitation, but Crowley didn’t care. He needed him to understand that this was something he truly cared about.

“But… why?”

And then he goes and asks these things. Completely out of the blue.

Crowley took off his glasses, knowing that he needed to share some of his feelings to convince Aziraphale. “Because I’m running out of reasons why we shouldn’t,” he said, wholeheartedly.

Blatant fucking honesty, again.

“Aren’t you?” he asked, hoping that he wouldn’t have to resort to such a level of vulnerability ever again. Then Aziraphale grinned at him, and everything felt right.

🎄🎄🎄

The Bentley. His pride and joy.

The look on Aziraphale’s face when he introduced him to the car was just priceless.

“Of course you drive this car.”

“You should like it, it’s a classic, probably one of a kind.”

“Yes, I suppose it is.”

And then the angel fucking winked at him. Oh, the audacity!

“Ngk.”

Of course you can’t put two words together after that, you pathetic, useless idiot.

🎄🎄🎄

The two-hour drive to London was perhaps one of the best trips of Crowley’s life. Previously, he’d made a quick call to the Ritz, reserving a table for lunch (when his family name came out, he always managed to get a reservation. One of the benefits of being a Crowley).

He was looking forward to seeing Aziraphale’s expression when he would find out that they were going to have lunch at the Ritz, seeing that it was something he’d always dreamed of (at least if that particular confession he’d made before getting totally wasted the night before was to be believed).

Crowley loved driving, especially the Bentley. But he soon found out that he loved driving with Aziraphale more. It felt as if his presence beside him, on the passenger seat, completed the portrait that he wanted to display to the outside world.

They talked. And they talked more.

Crowley told him about uni, about his PhD, about his job. Even his parents came up at some point, which was seriously something, considering Crowley never mentioned them if he could avoid it. And then he told the angel about music, about his band, about his love for Queen.

A couple of times, Crowley wondered why Aziraphale wasn’t sharing as much as he was, but he scolded himself and decided that he would get back to this matter later, maybe at the restaurant. Crowley had planned their day in every detail. After the Ritz, they would go to the National Gallery and then to a Shakespeare play at the Globe. He wanted this day to be perfect for him.

The problem was, he still didn’t know why.

(Or maybe he wasn’t ready to accept the fact that he knew why.)

Because Crowley could feel it – a huge sense of affection that was growing inside him, something he had never felt for anyone, aside from his family and close friends. And it was developing so quickly and so strongly, that he was starting to feel guilty for lying to Aziraphale about the kids. Not that he was lying, per se, but he was keeping the most important thing in his life from the angel.

‘Rule number one’, he repeated to himself like a mantra. ‘Protect Warlock and Adam at all costs.’

Even from perfect, angelic, inhumanly gorgeous American-non-American professors.

They got to the Ritz. And as anticipated, Aziraphale went nuts.

“We’re having lunch at the Ritz? How?!”

“Well, I– I– I just made a call,” said Crowley with a shrug.

It was nothing to him, really. But obviously, it was something to the angel.

(Everything, to make Aziraphale smile like that.)

“Ok, maybe my family name means something ‘round here.”

“So, what, a– a table for two has just miraculously come free?”

“Something like that.” Crowley grinned back.

🎄🎄🎄

For the entire duration of their stay at the Ritz, Crowley felt like a tempter. He could almost picture it in his mind, ‘demon attempts to entice an angel’.

‘Let me tempt you to a spot of lunch?’

‘Temptation accomplished.’

And it was so easy to tempt this silly angel. Crowley knew that he shouldn’t, but he wanted to shower Aziraphale with gifts and nice things. ‘Just something to remember me by’, he justified himself.

They talked more about his job as an editor. And he liked it, because it gave him a chance to keep up with the flirting. But when Aziraphale asked about Beez, Crowley looked back in surprise.

Was the angel so keen on knowing about his family? Why? Maybe, Crowley wasn’t the only one struggling with accepting the fact that it was never enough, when it came to getting to know each other?

“Oh, dear… I’m sorry if this looks like a third grade. I haven’t been on a first date in a long time.”

Crowley’s eyes went wide, and he couldn’t help but gasp. Fortunately, his reaction went unnoticed, because Aziraphale had just closed his eyes.

Ok, that definitely wasn’t just my imagination.

Aziraphale was struggling. Noticing his embarrassment, Crowley decided that it was up to him to ease the tension. Mostly because he was so fucking glad that Aziraphale considered this a proper date, that he couldn’t shut his mouth about it.

“We slept together twice, angel. I think we can consider this as such.”

So, he talked about Beez and their job, and a nice feeling of camaraderie spread between them. Aziraphale smiled so genuinely that Crowley melted inside.

He took the chance to ask about the angel, for a change. But it was no piece of cake. Especially because Aziraphale lived in the completely insane assumption that he hadn’t got anything interesting to share.

Fuck.

If only Crowley could convince him that he was by far the most interesting creature he’d ever had the luck to meet.

Well, maybe I can try.

“I don’t know what happened in your life to make you feel like you don’t deserve attention. That you don’t deserve praise and care. But I want to know fucking everything about you, even if you think it’s stupid. In fact, I want you to tell me the first stupid thing that comes to your mind right now.”

And from then, everything went smoothly. As soon as Aziraphale mentioned that stupid course (seriously, what kind of professor plans a Shakespeare 101 course at uni?) they laughed about it, and it felt good. Cathartic, if you will.

The waiter showed up with their appetizers, and Crowley nonchalantly asked if the angel had other siblings.

And then it happened.

If Crowley hadn’t known that they were in London, having lunch at the fucking Ritz, he would have thought that they were back in the bedroom the night before.

Because the noise (moan) of pleasure that came from Aziraphale’s mouth could only be described as sublime, enticing, fucking arousing.

(Just like the blissful sounds Aziraphale had made while spilling warm come down his throat, but this wasn’t really the time to think about it, if he did not want to be thrown out of the Ritz for public indecency.)

How could Aziraphale possibly think that one wouldn’t be affected by that? Was the angel really that oblivious? Had Crowley’s levels of self-control been a little bit lower, he would have jumped the man’s bones right there, to hell with the starred restaurant.

“This is just scrumptious! It feels like heaven.”

‘I bet it does’, Crowley murmured to himself.

His attention was dragged away from the growing pleasant ache in his trousers only when Aziraphale called him ‘dear’. Reality check. Back to finding out about the angel’s family.

It turned out that his father was out of the picture, but when they started talking about his mother, Aziraphale’s demeanor changed completely. The way he spoke about her revealed such deep affection that Crowley felt his eyes sting. She was from Tadfield, and this little piece of information disclosed something more about the true significance of the angel’s vacation.

Then the conversation turned back to Crowley’s dead parents and the reason why he was so protective of Beez.

“That’s why I reacted poorly when I first met you, I’m sorry.”

“Oh, don’t be. Not ever, not for being kind to your sibling.”

“I’m not kind. Kind is a four-letter word,” he scowled, playfully.

“Like ‘nice’.”

“Exactly,” said Crowley, remembering their first night together.

“I don’t know if I completely understand your aversion towards four-letter words.”

Crowley chuckled. He genuinely liked this man, and it wasn’t just a physical reaction to the angel’s angelfulness (great, he was making up words, now, good job, Editor Crowley). This was getting emotional. (And Crowley wasn’t sure if it was a good thing.)

He offered Aziraphale the rest of his dish, he wouldn’t have finished it anyway. Perhaps he was also hoping to hear more erotic sounds like the ones that had escaped Aziraphale’s mouth before.

And then he asked more about Aziraphale’s mother, because he wanted to see that glimpse in the angel’s eyes when he spoke about someone he’d loved so dearly.

“We sang together. All the time.”

This was such a fond, sweet memory that Crowley’s eyes almost filled with tears.

Maybe he wasn’t that great with words, but music? That, he could understand.

What he couldn’t cope with was the fact that Aziraphale hadn’t sung since his mother’s funeral. He felt robbed, in a way. Like he hadn’t gotten the chance to hear something ethereal. Proper celestial harmonies.

“I know, it’s ridiculous, but… I’ve tried, you know? I listen to our music, and I sing in my mind, but my voice… it doesn’t cooperate. It’s like something in my vocal cords died together with her. Singing with my mother gave me joy, it made me feel loved. It made me feel like I could love.”

“This is why you think you are not cut out for falling in love?”

Crowley hadn’t meant to ask this out loud, but he couldn’t help himself. He needed to know why Aziraphale was scarred (because losing someone you love does things to you, and Crowley knew something about this).

“I don’t know. Maybe. Obviously, I thought it was getting better when I got with Rafe, but–”

“But you never sang when you were with him.”

And both of them knew that what Crowley actually meant by that was, ‘You never told him that you loved him’. It remained unspoken. And Crowley decided that they really needed to go back to a lighter mood.

“Well, angel, I… sing– literally like– all the time!”

The angel chuckled and they exchanged more pleasantries, banter and flirty remarks. And it was simply wonderful.

🎄🎄🎄

Walking together in Berkeley Square.

What a fucking awful idea.

Of course Crowley would have wanted to take Aziraphale’s hand in his. Since putting foot in the park, he’d been singing the song in his mind. The one song that was, incidentally, his parents’ love song.

That certain night
The night we met
There was magic abroad in the air
There were angels dining at the Ritz
And a nightingale sang in Berkeley Square

Oh, this is just fantastic.

Singing one of the most romantic songs of all times in his mind while walking with an angel in his favorite London park.

You’re just a genius, Crowley. Nice way to forget about the man once he goes back to the States. Make up a connection between him and all the things you love most!

Crowley distracted himself by talking about trees.

Yes, this would do. Showing off his third favorite hobby, gardening. And– wait a second, why were they talking about the Bastille and guillotining people?!

“So what, you would’ve popped across the Channel during a revolution only to get something to nibble?” Crowley couldn’t stop laughing. “Perhaps all dressed up like an aristocrat, ready to be guillotined?”

“I have standards.”

Crowley felt his lips turning into a smirk, he couldn’t do anything about it.

Ridiculous, lovely angel.

“If you had to choose between stargazing and gardening, which one would you pick?”

Oh, he wouldn’t fall for this. He had the perfect answer.

“A picnic under the stars.”

“You fiend.”

🎄🎄🎄

It had been a while since he’d been to the Gallery. Crowley was saddened by the memory that his last visit had been with Ana and Newt. He tried not to think about it.

Fortunately, Aziraphale’s – erm – inspired reactions in front of certain paintings was really helping him to concentrate on something else. The angel almost cried when they found Venus and Mars.

“I’ve always had a penchant for Italian Renaissance.”

“I’m more of a Romantic kind of guy,” Crowley confessed.

It was true, he liked that period better.

“Wh– what?” Aziraphale asked.

“You know, Turner, Constable, Friedrich…”

“Oh, sure.”

And maybe the angel didn’t see, but Crowley noticed that flicker of disappointment on his face.

🎄🎄🎄

Crowley was so excited to show the angel the last surprise he had in store for him. He tried to build up the suspense as well as he could.

“I’ve got an ace up my sleeve.”

“Really? Something better than the Ritz? Does something like that even exist?”

Crowley laughed at that. “You bloody glutton. You may be an angel, but your place in hell is the third circle!”

For a second, Crowley feared that he’d crossed a line. But the angel’s silence wasn’t one of concern, he didn’t look upset, as he soon demonstrated.

“I could come visit you up in the second circle, then.”

Of course the angel got the reference to the Divine Comedy, this wasn’t surprising. But comparing Crowley to Paolo and Francesca? There were no more boundaries to their bicker-flirting. All the jokes and the bantering, the repartee. It felt so incredibly delicious and right.

It was perfect.

(It was also frightening.)

Crowley eventually got back to his senses and gave the tickets to Aziraphale.

“How could you possibly have found these at such short notice?”

He was visibly touched, and Crowley wanted to ride that wave.

Trying to make his angel weep, but for joy.

“Why then, can one desire too much of a good thing?”

Even if he was trying to act cool and aloof, Crowley was only human. The expression on the celestial creature’s face in front of him was otherworldly, and Crowley was just a Class-B demon, stationed on earth to tempt and thwart. His heart was beating so fast, now. Crowley turned around to move away, probably having the same gut reaction that Aziraphale had experienced back at the museum in front of Venus and Mars.

‘Have you ever seen anything more beautiful?’ Aziraphale had asked.
And Crowley had thought, ‘Yes, of course you idiot, I’m looking at you, aren’t I?’

When the angel stopped him before he could move, Crowley simply stared at him, trying to remember how he was supposed to breathe.

“Give me your hand, Orlando.”

Aziraphale continued his previous innuendo. And he wanted to hold hands.

And good lord, or Satan or someone, Crowley gave in to his wish and entwined his fingers with the angel’s, feeling like he was carving his own little corner of Heaven.

🎄🎄🎄

The next few hours passed by in a blur, and Crowley found himself parking the Bentley in front of the cottage without even noticing.

It wasn’t easy to watch Aziraphale without the safety of his sunglasses (it would have been more difficult driving with them at night, even if he would never admit it).

When Aziraphale confessed that this whole knowing-each-other idea had been great, Crowley felt a surge of hope. Hope that he’d be asked to go inside.

He wanted to go inside.

But the angel’s next words betrayed a totally different sentiment. And Crowley’s heart broke a little.

“You can just say you don’t want me to come in, Aziraphale.”

“It’s not like that, Crowley… I’m just a bit tired, it was a long day and…”

Maybe Aziraphale believed what he was saying, maybe he didn’t. But Crowley already knew where this conversation was going, and he didn’t like it one bit.

“It’s not what you’re thinking.”

“Ok, I’ll pretend I believe you,” he said, trying to smile.

“Crowley. I’m leaving in seven days, which makes this… complicated.”

“So?”

Of course Aziraphale was a hundred percent right about this. Which didn’t mean that Crowley wasn’t allowed to disagree, with the angel and with himself.

“I don’t think I can handle complicated, right now.”

Did he just wiggle his nose? Christ, give me a break!

Crowley nodded, feigning nonchalance. “Actually, ‘complicated’ is my middle name.”

“I thought your middle name was just a ‘J’.”

Oh, that, he couldn’t stand. Crowley giggled so lovingly at the angel’s joke. He was so incredibly funny and the best thing was that it was totally unintentional. Crowley said something brilliant, Aziraphale said something unintentionally funny back. It was just great.

But he didn’t have much time to ponder this, because Aziraphale was kissing him.

What the f–

It wasn’t like their previous kisses, it felt more like an affectionate peck. But it meant the world to Crowley.

They broke off the kiss and he stared into the angel’s eyes, trying to make his brain communicate with his lips. Hold back, you idiot!

But he couldn’t. He initiated a second kiss, much more passionate, almost desperate. Because he knew that every kiss could be their last, at this point.

When they parted, he leaned his forehead against the angel’s, in a tender gesture that surely made him more vulnerable than he would like under ordinary circumstances. But these weren’t ordinary circumstances. And oddly enough, Crowley didn’t care.

“And this doesn’t make it complicated?”

“Sex makes everything complicated. Even when you don’t have it, apparently. The not having it makes things complicated.”

There you go, again. Unintentionally funny. Silly, unconventional angel.

“Which is why it’s usually better to have it. I mean– Ngk. When all parties involved agree, obviously,” Crowley said, showing off his brilliant wit, and Aziraphale chuckled.

“Is there anything I can do to convince you to let me in?” he asked, hopefully, a few seconds later.

“Plenty,” Aziraphale immediately replied, causing another fit of laughter to ripple through the car.

Ok, don’t repeat yourself, you got the gist about the unintentionally funny, you wanker!

“But–”

“But?”

“But… you are a literary editor who lives in England, and I am a professor at Yale. I don’t think a long-distance relationship is your bread and butter.”

Past Crowley, king of one-night-stands, agreed with him. Present Crowley, an idiot with a crush on an angelic British-American professor, couldn’t disagree more.

“What do you know? Maybe I’m the star of long-distance relationships.”

Aziraphale wasn’t persuaded.

“I am a dull, soft professor and you are… a smart, funny, attractive, sexy man. Extraordinarily attractive and sexy, to be fair.”

This time, Crowley didn’t even pretend he wasn’t blushing.

He’d been on this planet for more than forty years, and nobody, not a single fucking soul had ever told him anything as remotely sweet and caring as what the angel had just said to him.

He tried to keep up his false bravado (which wasn’t easy). “Yeah, nghhh, well. Saying it twice will only boost my ego.”

“I could say it six thousand times without changing my mind.”

And Aziraphale was so pure and sure of what he was saying, that Crowley couldn’t help himself. He took his hand and kissed it, as softly as he could.

“You really are an angel.”

He wanted to carve this concept in the other man’s brain. He wanted Aziraphale to understand how special he was, not only to him – to the world.

“Well… I promise I won’t be drunkenly banging on your door any time soon. Tomorrow it’s the 23^rd, let’s begin the Christmas frenzzzzzy!”

He said all this with a knot in his throat, trying to act detached. Turning on the Bentley to keep his hands busy.

“You… uhm… obviously you have the cottage number?”

“Obviously.”

Crowley said this with a mocking tone, but he was smiling.

So it wasn’t really over? The angel wanted to hear from him again?

“So… we’ll see each other again, maybe?” he asked, trying to conceal the hint of hope in his question, but at the same time wanting to let it transpire.

 Aziraphale nodded. “We’ll figure something out.”

“Good night, angel,” he murmured, knowing that this was the softest, sappiest goodbye he’d ever said in his life. Aziraphale got out of the car, and it took Crowley a couple of minutes to collect his thoughts.

Always the optimist, Crowley almost hoped that the angel would turn around. That he would run to the car like in one of those corny movies. That he would tell him that he was an idiot and he wanted him to get inside.

And maybe, it was for the fear that something like that could actually happen that Crowley decided to leave at once.

He left his sibling’s house behind.

He left the hope of something potentially good behind.

He left an angel behind.

Chapter Text

Back to the present – December 23^rd

“Don’t stay out there, Mr East! Cro, let him in!” Adam insisted.

Crowley was taken out of his trance. “Ngk. Sure, uh, sure. Do come in, please.”

Aziraphale was confused, it was evident. But never as much as Crowley.

Shit.

He squeezed his eyes shut in desperation and closed the door behind the angel, breathing a sigh of distress. He wasn’t ready to turn around and face Aziraphale. Things had gotten out of hand, and Crowley was thoroughly fucked.

🎄🎄🎄

When he’d collected the kids in the morning, Crowley had fallen back into an old, consolidated routine that had made him feel safe. And if he’d spent the majority of his afternoon pining over a man that he probably wouldn’t see ever again, well that was between him and his plants.

At some point, Adam had come looking for him in the yard, catching a glimpse of his conversation with his hedgerow. A bit ashamed by the fact that one of his kids had found him blowing off steam on his plants, Crowley had offered to bake an angel cake (of course he fucking chose the angel cake) while the boys chilled on the sofa, intent on binge watching some Netflix tv series.

Hours had passed and Crowley had decided to try to work for a while, hoping to get distracted enough not to think about Aziraphale. The noise the kids were making in the other room was certainly helpful.

But not enough.

Because whenever Crowley closed his eyes, all he could see were glimpses of white-blond fluffy hair, hazel eyes and soft hands.

Can one live without blinking?

It had been around 6.30 PM when he’d heard a muffled sound that vaguely reminded him of a knock at the door. He’d waited a moment; he’d probably imagined it.

But then the knock had turned into the sound of the bell ringing. And when Crowley had rushed to the door to see who the unannounced guest was, his heart had stopped beating the moment he’d found himself facing the materialization of his daydreaming.

🎄🎄🎄

And now here he was. His angel, standing in front of his fucking Christmas tree like he fucking belonged. Seriously, how dared he?

There was no turning back, now. Aziraphale was here, the kids had introduced themselves to him. The secret was out, and he couldn’t do anything about it anymore.

What Crowley could do was carry out some massive damage control. To safeguard the kids, sure. But also, Aziraphale. His angel looked so stunned and flustered that it made Crowley loathe himself.

When he finally found the strength to talk, he decided to involve the children.

“Uhm… Adam, why don’t you take Mr Eastgate’s coat?”

“Sure, Cro.”

Aziraphale politely obliged and took off his coat before handing it to the blonde kid.

Warlock chuckled. “Wow, you wear a bowtie?”

Aziraphale tried not to blush. “Uhm, yes, I know I’m a bit overdressed.”

Crowley couldn’t help but smile at that. It had been less than 24 hours, but he’d missed the angel immensely. And watching him interact with the kids was doing things to him.

“No, I mean, it’s cool! The Eleventh doctor has a bowtie,” Warlock reassured him.

“Exactly,” said Aziraphale with a smile.

“Is Eleven your fave Doctor?” Adam asked, coming back from the cloakroom.

“Well, his storylines are the ones I enjoy the most. Very enigmatic. And River Song is perhaps my favorite character.”

Crowley stared at the angel in disbelief.

“You a whovian too?” Warlock asked with excitement.

“I don’t describe myself as a proper fan of the show, but I’m informed about it.”

Aziraphale looked at Crowley with an expression that was a mixture of fondness and smugness.

“What?” he asked, trying to suppress a chuckle but without success.

“Nothing, nothing. It’s just that… you don’t strike me as a… tv enthusiast!” Crowley smiled and Aziraphale returned it, however strained.

“There is still a thing or two you don’t know about me.”

Adam and Warlock exchanged a knowing look.

“Crowley, why didn’t you tell us we had a guest for dinner?”

“Because–”

What was he supposed to say?

‘Sorry kids, I wanted to mention it before. Aziraphale and I spent two nights shagging each other, and it was fucking amazing. Then I realised I was a fucking idiot pretending to be what I can’t be, so we decided it was better not to give in to temptation anymore, because every time I see him it’s like I can’t take my fucking hands off of him!’

(Reconsidering, better keep this suitable for all ages.)

“I decided to show up at the very last second,” Aziraphale spoke for both of them.

“But you brought wine and… goodies?” Warlock asked, inspecting the contents of Aziraphale’s bag.

These kids, I swear.

“All right, why don’t you two go set the table so that we can order pizza?”

“Cool!”

The children disappeared, and Crowley found himself alone with his embarrassment, his wounded pride, and a very bummed angel.

“Listen, Aziraphale, uhm–” He tried to find the right words to explain. “I apologize for not mentioning this earlier–”

“You’re married?” the angel blurted out with a gasp.

“No! No! Why would you ask such a thing, what kind of man do you think I am? Would I lie to you?” Crowley snapped, disappointed by Aziraphale’s mistrust.

“Evidently,” he quipped, waving his hands in the direction of the room the children had gone to.

Well, hard to argue with that.

“Furthermore, you never actually told me.”

“Told you what?”

“If you were single.”

Judging by Aziraphale’s suddenly flushed cheeks, it had cost him to point this out.

Crowley sighed. “I’m not married.”

“Are you… divorced?”

Crowley disheveled his hair with his hands. This was going to be harder than he thought.

“They’re my nephews, Aziraphale.”

“Oh?”

“Well, sort of. They’re my best friend’s children. I adopted them.”

Crowley could almost hear the gears turning inside the angel’s mind. Was he deciding if he was to be trusted again? Could Crowley make amends for keeping the truth from him?

These were very good questions, but now wasn’t the time to ask them, because the kids were still around. And Crowley couldn’t stand the idea of confronting Aziraphale with Adam and Warlock within earshot.

“Mr Eastgate!” came a voice from another room. “What kind of pizza do you want?”

Aziraphale replied automatically, “Vegetarian will be fine, dear!”

Later. We’ll talk later.

And maybe the angel came to the same conclusion, because he asked, “Can we get back to this later?”

Crowley was so glad that he took Aziraphale’s hands in his. “Sure, angel.”

(And he sighed in relief when he noticed that he wasn’t letting go.)

🎄🎄🎄

Adam and Warlock insisted on showing Aziraphale around the manor. Crowley followed them in silence, letting the kids guide the tour. The angel said something to comment on every single part of the house, and the children were obviously hanging on every word coming out of his mouth.

Crowley loved every second of this weird stage of them getting acquainted. Adam and Lock had never gotten the chance to interact with someone resembling a partner of Crowley’s, and yet they were doing so well. He loved these kids; they always surprised him with their sharp mind and quick tongue. And judging by Aziraphale’s reactions, he was approving of the very same traits in his boys, seeing that he often left a room with a surprised twinkle in his eyes and an amused smile.

After the pizza delivery boy showed up around 7.30, the unlikely quartet sat around a table in Crowley’s very modern kitchen.

They all shared a good laugh when Aziraphale had his first taste of red beer and ended up with a beer foam moustache. The scene was ridiculous, of course, but Crowley’s heartbeat had become so irregular that for a moment he feared he was having a stroke.

He watched his angel sit with him and the kids, doing something average and ordinary like eating pizza together. And for the first time he started wondering, ‘Why not?’

When the boys found out that Aziraphale taught at Yale, they shrieked almost hysterically.

“What do you teach?” Adam asked.

“Do you have a football team?” Warlock jumped in.

“Boys, what did we say about quickfire questions?” Crowley admonished them.

Aziraphale (unconsciously?) put his hand on Crowley’s arm, in a gesture probably meant to reassure him that this was fine.

Little did the angel know that the simple touch of his fingers through his sleeves had just increased Crowley’s body temperature to very precarious levels.

“I teach literature. Authors like Shakespeare, Keats–”

“You teach Terry Pratchett?” Adam asked, intrigued.

Crowley chuckled.

“I taught a module about him, once.”

“Cool!” Warlock seemed satisfied.

“And sure, we have a soccer team, that’s how they call it in America. They’re pretty good.”

“You like football, Mr Eastgate?”

“I’m afraid I’m not so much into sports, Adam.”

“Just like Crowley.” Warlock snickered, soon followed by his brother.

“You have a lot in common,” Adam pointed out.

Aziraphale’s eyes met his, and they both blushed. Crowley was glad to notice that he wasn’t the only one affected by what was going on.

“Is the team any good?”

“Er… yes, I believe so. The bulldogs, that’s how they are called,” Aziraphale told Warlock. “They are now second in the league; those Princeton boys are killing it this year.”

“If it isn’t clear, Lock and Adam love football. They also collect football uniforms.”

“Really now?” Aziraphale asked, genuinely interested.

“We’ve got at least fifty of ‘em,” Adam told him, sounding proud of his little personal achievement.

“You want to see them?” Warlock almost begged.

“I don’t think Mr Eastgate is inclined to check on your questionable patchwork of football t-shirts, Lock, and besides–”

Aziraphale interrupted with a simple, “What do you know? I’m always interested in other people’s collections.”

“Should check out mummy’s dolphins, then,” Adam suggested.

Crowley felt his heart stop. It always looked as if the children were far more comfortable talking about their mother than he was.

He tried to ignore Aziraphale’s questioning look whilst they followed the boys upstairs. They kept their precious possession in the playroom, a huge open space that Crowley had furnished to create a refuge where Adam and Lock could do whatever they wanted (even playing football).

Clearly, Aziraphale wasn’t expecting the walls to be astronomy-themed. His gasp of surprise when he entered the room was pretty loud.

“This is seriously breathtaking,” the angel gushed, still in awe.

“You like astronomy too, Mr East?” Adam asked.

“I’m starting to like it a great deal.”

And this time, Crowley couldn’t ignore the angel gazing intently at him. It was the first time that their eyes locked in such an intimate way, that evening, and Crowley found himself wondering how he could have survived without that connection in the last few hours.

He wondered if he ever could, from now on.

“And these are our t-shirts,” said Warlock, opening a wardrobe in the corner.

“I particularly like this one,” Aziraphale noted, as his (soft) fingers grazed a red and blue t-shirt (and Crowley wished to turn himself into a football uniform for the first time in his life).

“That’s Messi’s, FC Barcelona,” Adam informed him.

“We’ve got two of ‘em, take it if you like it,” Warlock offered.

Aziraphale shook his head sheepishly, his cheeks suddenly as red as the t-shirt he was looking at. “Oh no, dear boy, I can’t really take this from you.”

“Sure you can! It’s not like it’s a rarity,” Adam agreed.

Aziraphale looked tentatively at Crowley. The angel was obviously trying to find a way to escape from this awkward situation, and for the first time since he’d met him, Crowley feared that he was resenting ever meeting him. By now, he knew that Aziraphale wasn’t at ease around other people. He could only guess how much this feeling increased around kids.

But when he examined the man’s face, he didn’t see discomfort. Aziraphale was staring at Crowley expectantly. Like he was silently asking, ‘What am I supposed to do?’

And if Crowley hadn’t been worshipping the man before, he started now.

He nodded imperceptibly, trying to convey his total agreement with such a weird exchange between two eleven-year-olds and a Yale professor.

Go on, angel.

Aziraphale sighed in relief and focused on the kids.

“Thank you, boys.”

“Put it on!” Adam encouraged him.

“Er… I don’t think it–”

“Come on, Cro, it’s an adult size, it should fit!”

“Don’t feel obligated, angel!”

Crowley watched in horror as Aziraphale’s expression turned into a shocked one. He bit the inside of his cheeks and mouthed a ‘fuck’ that was definitely a bit too loud.

Adam and Warlock hadn’t missed his slip, obviously. They exchanged the umpteenth knowing look of that evening and giggled to themselves.

In a stroke of genius, Aziraphale diverted the attention from the term of endearment that Crowley had casually pronounced in front of the kids. He took off his beloved coat, unbuttoned his waistcoat (oh my god, he is getting undressed, and I simply can’t breathe anymore) and put both in Crowley’s hands.

Crowley’s mouth went completely dry.

Finally, Aziraphale put on his gift directly over his shirt. Maybe it was a bit tight, but it fit.

The boys smiled, proud and clearly satisfied.

“You look cool, Mr. East!”

“Just roll up the sleeves.” Warlock helped him to do just that. “Looks better.”

Crowley’s lips had probably been parted in wonder for the last couple of minutes. His brain had short circuited the moment he’d called Aziraphale ‘angel’ in front of the boys and it had probably melted down when he’d registered the sight of said angel with rolled up sleeves right in front of him.

And you can do nothing about it because the little brats are here.

And yet, he decided to reward Warlock with a lifelong Disney Plus subscription to thank him for the greatest idea any living soul had ever had. Because Aziraphale in his house was one thing. Aziraphale in the kids’ room with rolled up sleeves was a total fucking disaster. Something Crowley wasn’t prepared for, something he would never be prepared for, not even in six thousand years.

He really needed to say something, because Aziraphale was clearly waiting for his response.

“Er… Very nice, angel.”

“Thank you.” Aziraphale’s voice was almost a whisper.

Apparently, Adam had decided that it was time to break the weird sexual tension between two besotted middle-aged men, because he asked, “Uhm… maybe we could watch a few episodes of Doctor Who?”

Crowley checked the time; it was half past eight. “Sure, but only a couple of episodes.”

“Any preferences, Mr Eastgate?” Warlock asked.

“I like The Shakespeare Code.”

Crowley chuckled. “Of course, you do.”

“Fine, we can watch that!” Adam agreed, running out of the room in excitement.

“I’m making cocoa!” Warlock followed his brother immediately.

Finally alone for the first time since the angel’s arrival, the two adults couldn’t help but smile at each other. Because Crowley had never felt so in awe of anything before. Of no one. Ever.

Unexpectedly, another Shakespeare quote slithered to the back of his mind.

Forswear it, sight! For I ne’er saw true beauty till this night.

But again, Crowley took the cowardly way out. He didn’t say it out loud. He simply waved a hand towards the door, intending that he would follow the angel downstairs.

Then, he suddenly realised something else.

“Wait a minute, The Shakespeare Code is not an episode with Eleven!”

“I don’t believe it is,” Aziraphale stated, matter-of-factly.

“But you said that you like the Eleventh Doctor’s stories the most.”

“I did,” Aziraphale confirmed. “But I never said who my favorite Doctor is.”

Crowley felt a surge of energy at the realisation that the angel preferred the tall, skinny, lanky, dark-haired Doctor. He wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.

You’re just enough of a bastard to be worth knowing, angel.

🎄🎄🎄

They were into their third episode (Daleks in Manhattan) when Crowley realised that Adam and Warlock had fallen asleep. He psst-ed at Aziraphale and signaled his intention to leave the room. He didn’t usually let the boys sleep on the sofa, but tonight he could make an exception.

Truth was, he really was looking forward to speaking with Aziraphale; he needed to clear the air and make sure that the angel didn’t hate him for hiding the truth.

“Just– give me a minute,” Crowley whispered. “I’ll fetch a blanket for them.”

“Can I wait in your office?”

Crowley smiled. He’d expected this. When the boys had showed Aziraphale around, he’d been impressed by his office – or maybe by his bookshelves. Crowley always assumed that his collection was interesting. Maybe he wasn’t an expert of first editions – like Aziraphale, as the angel had informed him during their lunch at the Ritz – but he owned a few rare pieces that he was particularly proud of.

“Sure, I’ll be there in a sec.”

It took Crowley no more than a couple of minutes to find a blanket to cover Adam and Lock. He turned off the telly while the Doctor was interacting with a young Andrew Garfield and walked to the wing of the manor where his office was located.

Aziraphale was scrutinising the books on the shelves, clearly in search of some memorable edition to skim through. Crowley felt a pang in his stomach at the sight

Why didn’t the angel’s presence in this room bother him at all? No one was allowed to enter his office, not even the kids. It was his sanctum sanctorum, a place where he found peace and tranquility not only to work, but also to read, write, and listen to music. His office was only his.

And yet, Aziraphale moved around like he belonged. And Crowley’s rational brain couldn’t tolerate this. (Crowley’s heart, on the contrary, was craving for more.)

“So, you’re a Doctor Who expert, eh?” he broke the ice, and the angel flinched.

Aziraphale turned around and Crowley’s brain stopped working for a second. The angel had taken off Messi’s t-shirt, but his waistcoat was still nowhere to be seen. Crowley painfully realised that Aziraphale in rolled up sleeves and a bowtie was too hot for his neurons to work properly.

I am doomed.

“When Gabriel got the part in that sci-fi show, he asked me to do some research.”

“Research?” Crowley asked, not sure he understood completely.

“The show should have been a long-run American version of Doctor Who. In the end, it got canceled after the first season, and Gabriel stopped acting to become an exec.”

Crowley clung to every bit of information Aziraphale was providing. He still had to find something about his life that he wasn’t interested in. (He probably wouldn’t even if he tried.)

“So let me get this straight. You watched something like ten seasons of Doctor Who to help your brother get into character?”

“Oh, much more than that!” Aziraphale chuckled. “I started from the very beginning.”

“You mean William Hartnell’s episodes?”

“The ones that we could find, of course. Gabriel can be very persuasive. So can money.”

“I’m very impressed.” Crowley smiled, genuinely amazed.

“I don’t see why you should be; it was just a favour to help my brother.”

“Still, you were an angel. I’m starting to see a pattern there,” Crowley pointed out. He didn’t intend this to be polemic or challenging, he was just starting to realise that Aziraphale rarely let people down. He was the kind of person that would brandish a flaming sword to deal with the devil himself, if it meant keeping you safe.

“Maybe I was just surprised to find out you even own a telly, in the first place,” Crowley joked. “You look more like a bookish kind of angel.”

Aziraphale seemed to be struggling with himself not to laugh at that, but he was serious enough when he answered, “I told you, there’s a lot of things you don’t know about me, yet.”

And that single ‘yet’ was enough to ignite Crowley’s hope that the angel wouldn’t run away before listening to his apologies.

Aziraphale was keeping his eyes on Crowley, who knew that the angel was waiting for an explanation. The problem was giving him one. He hadn’t spoken about this for months, years. With anyone. Apart from his therapist, but she was an overly-paid professional who had to listen to Crowley ramble one hour a week.

And yet he got the feeling that if there was someone that could understand all of this without judging, well… this someone might be Aziraphale. Crowley felt it in his bones.

“I officially adopted the boys two years ago. Lock was nine and Adam was eight.”

Aziraphale didn’t speak, and Crowley was grateful for it; he wanted to tell the story at his own pace, taking all the necessary breaks to control his breathing and not cry like the vulnerable fool he was. He suddenly wished he had his sunglasses on, but he never wore them around the boys. Well, shouldn’t he hold it together, Aziraphale was in for a treat.

“Their parents died in a car crash. Anathema and Newt,” Crowley explained.

He caught a glimpse of recognition in Aziraphale’s eyes.

“I believe you mentioned her the other night?” he recalled.

Crowley smiled sadly. “Yeah, I kind of lost control of my fucking speech center, didn’t I?”

“We were pretty drunk.”

“Yep.” Crowley sighed. “She was my best friend. Our families were always together, the Device clan is one of the richest families in Europe. And… we grew up together, we had a special bond. She was like a sister to me. Even more than Beez, at some point.”

Aziraphale listened in silence, nodding from time to time to show him that he had his full attention.

“Oh, those fucking dolphins.” Crowley chuckled but felt miserable. “She loved them so much! Wherever she went, wherever we went, she always had to buy one, to expand her collection.”

Aziraphale smiled sadly.

“Then she met Newt, they got married, and as soon as I saw them together, I knew that they would be the happiest couple ever, because they complimented each other so well… She was an occultist, always reading horoscopes and consulting Tracy about potions and elixirs. Fucking witch!" He laughed to himself at the memory. “Newt, he was a… well, he was a bloody nerd, but you couldn’t let him touch a mobile or a tablet because they just mysteriously stopped functioning as soon as he put eyes on them!”

Somehow, Crowley was feeling good. This wasn’t as hard as he thought it would be. Words were coming out easier than ever. Talking about them, remembering Ana and Newt, the moments they had together. He should feel guilty, but instead he was glad to be able to share all of this with someone.

No, not someone. With his angel.

“Lock and Adam were two little rascals, even as newborns. Ana and Newt were both only kids themselves, so they made me godfather. We spent so much time together, even when they were still–”

Crowley’s voice faltered for the first time.

“The day of the accident… the boys were with me. We were in London; I’d accompanied them to the stadium. And when the news came, our world just fell apart.”

Crowley didn’t know what was going on in Aziraphale’s mind. But he was sure that the angel could empathize, having lost his mother not long before that very same period.

He sighed, recomposing himself. “Ana was a new-agey witch, but she was also a very cautious person, especially when it came to the boys. She left a will in which she established that I had to adopt Adam and Lock, should anything happen to her and Newt.”

“And so you did.”

“And so I did,” Crowley said, letting out a long sigh.

“They are wonderful, Crowley.”

Oh, please, go on, be even more perfect than you already are, angel.

Crowley nodded, smiling to himself. “Thank you. I know they can be a handful, but they are so fun to deal with. Adam is in that I-want-to-know-everything phase, you know? He’s asked for a microscope and a telescope for Christmas. And Lock, well… he’s the sensible one. He’s smarter than the average boy, always finding the best way to trick me into doing anything he wants. Which, I must admit, I love about him.”

Aziraphale smiled at that, and Crowley melted a little.

“And I can’t imagine anyone making a bigger hit with them. Bloody Doctor Who,” he continued with a chuckle.

“I’m trying to figure out why you didn’t tell me about them.”

The words had come out from Aziraphale’s mouth so fast, that Crowley almost thought he’d imagined them. Maybe the angel wasn’t that forgiving about what had happened, after all.

“Because I just don’t ever… tell men about them.”

“You thought I should know that you sing while having sex but not that you have two kids?”

Aziraphale’s tone sounded a little irked, and Crowley knew that he had every right to feel betrayed. Yet, he didn’t like that statement. Mainly because it meant that the angel was wondering if what he’d told him the previous days had been just a lie.

He can’t possibly think I was just acting, can he?

“That felt like crucial information, back then,” he said, opting for his well-established sarcastic attitude. It probably worked, because the angel fell silent and Crowley could tell he was fighting to hold the smile threatening to appear on his beautiful lips.

“I’m sorry,” Aziraphale finally said. “But it’s confusing, since you’re the one who wanted to go out to lunch, and get to know each other…”

Crowley’s heart ached at that. He’d never wanted this to happen; he hadn’t intended to confuse Aziraphale with his actions. How could he make him understand?

“I have no defenses except that until I know someone, really know someone… well, it’s easier for me to keep this a secret. I’m very protective of the people I love.”

“I’ve noticed.”

Crowley remembered their first night and his little outburst when he’d found Aziraphale in his sibling’s house. Of course the angel knew that about him.

“It’s different with the boys, though.” Crowley started pacing in the room, feeling his tension grow. “It’s easier to be just an average single bloke because it’s way too complicated to be who I really am!”

Aziraphale’s eyes followed Crowley as he walked in distress.

“I am not only an uncle anymore. I must be a dad. Their dad. No, no, not only a dad, but also a mum! I am a working parent, but I must keep up with all their football shit and help them with homework, and I spend nights reading parenting books, and I cook and bake like– all the time!”

Aziraphale looked at him in astonishment.

“Yeah, of course I do!” Crowley kept pacing around. “I’m a fucking Gordon Ramsey, aren’t I? And I spend my weekends binge watching TV shows that I mostly don’t like, because I can’t force them to watch the bloody Golden Girls with me, can I?”

Aziraphale narrowed his eyes at that. “You like The Golden Girls?”

“That’s beside the point, angel!” he snapped. “I used to have gigs every other day, and suddenly I must consult their schedule to see if I can be available before confirming a show with the band!”

Crowley couldn’t stop walking and talking, and he knew he was going to say something he would regret, but he didn’t care. It felt so good to take everything out of his system, for once.

“And of course, I can’t invite men home, because the kids are here. So, I usually look for the most frivolous bloke I can find and I always need to call it a night as soon as we’re over with the shagging bit, because I can’t stay around and I don’t want them to stay around!”

Aziraphale didn’t react, but Crowley could see his pained expression. He finally stopped his incessant pacing, trying to calm down a bit.

“I’m on some kind of… constant overload, and it helps to compartmentalise my life. And so far, that’s worked just fine for the three of us.”

Aziraphale nodded, still unable to speak.

“These last few days, Adam and Lock were with Newt’s parents. And I thought I could just… be a little selfish, you know? Because I don’t know how to actually date someone and at the same time be all this, for them. I have one rule, one single rule. Protect them, at all costs. I couldn’t cope with them living through another heartbreak. They’ve lost so much already. And I know I feel overprotective of Beez, but they’re an adult, they can take care of themselves. Adam and Lock are kids, and there’s a possibility that I am scared as shit of what another person would do to the precious, peaceful, fragile existence that I have carved out for ourselves here.”

Aziraphale sighed to himself, clearly looking for something to express his own feelings.

“I guess I sort of get you not telling me about them, given how weird things have been with us.”

Crowley nodded, glad that the angel understood his point of view. Mostly, he was still astonished that he hadn’t run away after the whole shagging rant.

“I suppose I was afraid to introduce them to someone they may never see again. You’re leaving in a few days, Aziraphale,” Crowley said. “I couldn’t risk it.”

“Right. Because I’m just someone you had sex with twice.”

Even if the angel didn’t say this with anger or resentment, his tone betrayed his disappointment.

No, no, no! It’s not just that! You’re different from the others, don’t you see? Twice is the keyword, angel. I never slept twice with other men!

But Crowley couldn’t find it in his heart to say this. Again, he decided to go all in with a sarcastic smirk. “Actually, I thought I was just someone you had sex with twice.”

Aziraphale sighed and put his hands on his face, clearly trying to process everything.

Yeah, take a number.

“I think we just went way past complicated,” the angel finally said.

“Yeah, ngk– well…” Crowley snorted to himself. “As you said, I am a funny, attractive, sexy literary editor who lives in England–”

“I don’t think that’s what I said–”

“I believe your exact words were extraordinarily attractive and sexy.”

Aziraphale chuckled, of course he remembered saying that.

“And you are… a hot, hilarious, and extremely intelligent professor at Yale. A very hot professor.”

“Well, that I never said,” Aziraphale argued.

“Well, I may have misquoted you a bit.” Crowley smiled. “But I like my version better, angel.”

The blush on Aziraphale’s cheeks could have killed Crowley right there and then.

“We are like worlds apart. Like heaven and hell,” Crowley waved his hands in the air.

“Hereditary enemies,” Aziraphale went on.

“Exactly.”

“Exactly.”

They giggled together, and it felt so good, even if somehow final.

“Anyway… thank you for being so kind to them,” Crowley said sincerely.

“You don’t have to thank me for being a decent person. I should be the one thanking you, I mean, all of you. It’s been so long since I had something resembling a family night,” Aziraphale admitted.

And as soon as he did, he visibly regretted it. He looked at Crowley with his gorgeous eyes, unnecessarily full of embarrassment and fear.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, it’s not what I meant–”

“Don’t worry, angel.” Crowley decided to close the gap between them, taking Aziraphale’s hands in his, craving for his touch. “I know what you meant.”

‘Because I felt like that too’, he added to himself.

“Good, good,” the angel said, avoiding eye contact. “I should probably get going, now.”

Crowley was taken back to reality, feeling cold and empty.

“Sure. Lift home?”

Aziraphale smiled at him. “I wouldn’t consider leaving two sleeping kids alone in such a huge house an example of very good parenting.”

Crowley chuckled. “Ya, sure.”

He’d almost forgotten about Adam and Lock. (Apparently, getting lost in an angel’s eyes did this to him, now.)

“It’s not that late, I’ll walk home. Don’t worry.” Aziraphale smiled again. “I’m very fond of walking.”

“Ok.”

Aziraphale took his new t-shirt, then Crowley escorted him to the door after recollecting his belongings. They stood on the door, ready to say their goodbyes.

“Crowley. I just wanted you to know–”

“Yes?”

He was far too hopeful, and he knew it. He was waiting for Aziraphale to say something. Crowley needed just a hint that the angel wanted to stay, and he would definitely surrender to his spell.

“I’m glad I came over,” Aziraphale finally said.

It wasn’t the kind of sentence Crowley had been hoping for, but it hit him nonetheless.

Crowley didn’t answer, he simply hugged him. He held his angel close, smelling the vanilla perfume wafting from his fluffy blond hair.

When they parted, Crowley didn’t look back, too afraid of being turned to stone under the gaze of his own personal marvelous gorgon.

He went back inside, breathing hard, trying to stop the tears that were springing at the corners of his eyes.

He’s just another someone, Crowley, what the fuck?

Why couldn’t he stand the idea of losing Aziraphale? He’d slept with dozens of men in the last year, why wasn’t he capable of letting this one go?

Maybe because he wasn’t just a someone?

And he’d met the kids.

And he’d liked them.

And they had liked him too, genuinely and naturally.

Crowley sniffed and went upstairs, feeling the urge to make sure that Adam and Lock were fine. When he looked where he’d left them, Crowley found out they weren’t there anymore. He walked to their bedrooms. Adam was now safely tucked under the covers and asleep in his bed. On the contrary, when he went to Warlock’s bedroom, he found him laying down but awake.

“Hey,” Crowley said, joining him on his bed. “You still up?”

“Yeah, I tucked Adam in, but I’m not that tired.”

“You want me to give you a book?”

“Sure.”

Crowley took Truckers from the desk, knowing that Lock was still reading it.

“So, Mr Eastgate is not going to sleep over?”

The book fell from Crowley’s hands as he stared at the boy in disbelief.

“What gave you the impression that he would stay?” he asked, scandalised.

“I don’t know.” Lock shrugged. “It seemed to me that he liked you enough.”

Crowley gasped. “He’s visiting, Lock. He’s leaving in a few days,” he warned the kid, trying to quash whatever thought had come to his mind at seeing a man around his uncle.

After a few minutes of silence, Warlock broke it first. “You know, I remember Ash.”

Crowley just looked at the boy with curiosity. “You do?”

“Yeah. I know he was your boyfriend, but he was an arse.”

“Oi! Language!” Crowley scolded him.

“I’m sorry, but he was! Mum and Dad thought so, too!”

Crowley’s eyes darkened at the mention of Ana and Newt. But he was used to Lock being more accustomed to expressing his feelings about his parents. Kids have an innate strength that helps them to cope with tragedies better and faster than adults. At least, that was what Crowley’s therapist often said to him.

“Ok, Ash was the worst, I know. Why would you bring him up?”

Ash had been Crowley’s only partner to last for a year. Not that their relationship had ever been perfect, but he’d cared for him. At least, until he’d found out that Ash cared for Crowley just as much as he cared for Tim, and Mutt, and Thad (all at the same time, the piece of shit).

“Because I like Mr Eastgate. I think he has potential.”

Crowley felt a huge smile spread on his lips against his better judgement.

Fuck, I love this kid.

And as soon as Warlock said it, Crowley realised that he couldn’t agree more with his boy.

“You know what? I think you’re right.”

Chapter Text

December 24th – Christmas Eve

Aziraphale had spent the morning at home. Even if he wanted to go out and clear his mind, he couldn’t risk bumping into Crowley. Tadfield wasn’t a very big town, and it was Christmas Eve. He could almost picture him, sauntering vaguely down the streets, shopping for the feast, rushing to buy the last gifts, meeting friends and families to wish them a merry Christmas. And Aziraphale didn’t know where he could fit in such a picture.

Last night had been… a rollercoaster of emotions.

The shock of finding out about Adam and Warlock’s existence had soon turned into delight when he had started to interact with the boys and he’d found out how smart and so very challenging they were. Aziraphale had enjoyed their time together immensely.

And that was by far the most amazing result of the previous night, because finding out about Adam and Warlock hadn’t been as astonishing as that sense of familiarity and coziness that he had experienced around the three of them.

Aziraphale was a hermit, a lonely man.

He never liked people, and people didn’t like him.

And yet, with Crowley, everything felt just right. In place. Like he belonged.

Aziraphale was going mad trying to interpret the huge range of emotions he was feeling. He felt overwhelmed by it, probably for the first time in his life.

On the other hand, he couldn’t take Crowley’s words about his dating life out of his mind.

‘I usually look for the most frivolous bloke I can find and I always need to call it a night as soon as we’re over with the shagging bit, because I can’t stay around and I don’t want them to stay around!’

Apparently, Aziraphale’s first impression of Crowley had been on the money.

He was the most wanted bachelor in Tadfield. And he spent his free nights with different partners, never caring to see them again.

No, maybe it wasn’t quite like that. Never daring to see them again.

Because it was evident, at least to Aziraphale, that all Crowley truly cared about was Adam and Lock’s well-being. They came first, they would always come first. And Aziraphale couldn’t blame Crowley for trying to be the best possible parent to those children, who’d already suffered so much. If possible, Aziraphale liked him even more for being so protective of the people he loved, even at the expense of his own happiness.

And yet.

At the very top of his list of hundreds of questions to ask Crowley, Aziraphale kept wondering why.

If Crowley never slept more than once with other men, why had he invited Aziraphale out to meet his friends? Why had he spent a second (magical) night with him? Why had he asked him out on a date? Why had he spent a whole day doing things to amaze and impress a dull British-American professor? And even if Aziraphale popping up at Tadfield Manor had been an unexpected mess for him, why had Crowley invited him to stay and spend the night with his kids, whose existence had never been mentioned to any other former lover?

Why?

No answer.

Which was crazy, considering that Aziraphale had an answer for almost everything.

Perhaps Crowley just wanted to be friendly. Knowing that Beez was the other half of this weird home exchange, maybe he just felt compelled to welcome the man whose house his sibling was currently inhabiting.

But as soon as it came, this squalid idea disappeared from Aziraphale’s mind. Crowley was everything but a lackey, he would never treat a stranger with such kindness if he didn’t really mean to. He was an extraordinary man, Aziraphale was sure that everything the gorgeous red-haired wooer had said and done for him was meant. Crowley was simply incapable of not being kind and nice to him. Which was ridiculous, considering how much he hated those four-letter-words.

Bottom line, Aziraphale had no answer to the most important question. Maybe he would never know why Crowley had behaved like that.

(And maybe he would live better not knowing.)

The other thought tormenting him was the way he’d said goodbye to Warlock.

When he and Crowley had parted ways (after the softest, warmest, most heartfelt hug Aziraphale had ever received), he’d waited a couple of seconds before walking away.

Crowley had gone back inside, never turning back, not even for a last glimpse at him. When he’d closed the door behind him, Aziraphale had felt a pang in his heart.

He’d risked a look at the manor, watching the façade of a house that, had things been different and hadn’t he and Crowley been doomed lovers like Romeo and Juliet, he would have loved to visit more.

When Aziraphale had glanced at the windows on the first floor, he had unexpectedly spotted someone staring back at him.

Warlock was standing behind the glass, watching him. And when he’d realised that Aziraphale had noticed, he had waved to say goodbye.

He had smiled at him.

Aziraphale had returned the gesture with a huge grin on his face, accepting the frightening truth that this was probably one of the most spontaneous smiles he’d ever addressed to any human being.

Warlock had then disappeared, but the warmth and affection he’d been capable of conveying to a 42-year-old man with that wave was something difficult to put into words. These really were incredible kids. And they deserved the world.

And that was the main reason that had inspired Aziraphale to make a phone call to his brother whilst returning to Bluebell Lodge. It had taken Gabriel a while to answer, but considering that it was still afternoon in New Haven, Aziraphale hadn’t been surprised.

When Gabriel had picked up the phone, Aziraphale hadn’t wasted time exchanging pleasantries, it was too late for small talk, anyway.

He simply asked Gabriel to immediately go to his campus at Yale and gather all the soccer gadgets he could put his hands on. Shirts, shorts, uniforms, caps and hoodies.

Saying that Gabriel was flabbergasted by the sudden request was an understatement.

“What are you going to do with all that stuff?”

“It’s none of your business. But I need at least two of each article, and I need them to be here tomorrow.”

Gabriel sneered back at him. “You’re losing it, Az!”

“I’m not joking, Gabriel. I need all that stuff, as you call it, for a Christmas present. I want them delivered to Tadfield by tomorrow evening. If you collect the items right now and make an immediate shipment–”

“Immediate? Who do you think I am, Santa fucking Claus?” he barked.

“I don’t care how you do it, but I know that you can. You are very persuasive, when it’s for your own interest.”

“It’s not a matter of being persuasive, Aziraphale! It’s Christmas, for god’s sake! You can’t expect to get something from Connecticut to Tadfield in less than one day!”

“I can, and I will.”

“You’re crazy!”

“I don’t care if you have to use the company plane, Gabriel. I really need this.”

“You know that I am not supposed to use the plane for personal reasons, Az!”

“I know, but I’ve done you all kinds of favours in the last few years. I’ve always been there for you, literally all the time. I think it’s only fair that you do one thing for me, at last.”

Gabriel’s response arrived after a deep sigh of resignation. “All right. You need to text me the specifics. I’m going to need the exact address.”

“Fine, I’ll text as soon as we hang up.”

“And I’m going to pay a courier to take the delivery from the airport, so that we have only one middle man to hand over the package.”

“This sounds perfect, Gabriel!” Aziraphale gushed, praising his brother’s ingenious idea.

“Ok, I’m close to Yale, I could prepare a package and set up the plane in a couple of hours. Is there anything else that you need delivered?”

Aziraphale stopped in his tracks. “Oh, yes!” he yelled. He couldn’t believe he’d almost forgotten another important bit. “Could you also send me the copy of Much ado about nothing that I keep in my office at home?”

“Our mother’s?”

“Yes, the Thomas Cotes’s Second Folio edition.”

“What do you need it for?”

Aziraphale’s mind went back to the minutes spent in Crowley’s office on his own. He’d scrutinised his Shakespeare collection, noticing that he didn’t have a rare edition of Much ado about nothing. It had been but a short step from that discovery to this request to his brother.

“I think it’s time for that book to find a new home, that’s all.”

“Fine. I’ll be in touch, Az.”

“Thank you, Gabriel. I owe you one,” Aziraphale said, sincerely.

“Yeah, no problem.”

And now, here he was, spending his day at home, jumping every time he heard a noise coming from the yard. When Aziraphale had woken up this morning, he’d found a message from Gabriel confirming that the plane would be in London in record time. So, in just a matter of hours he would receive the long-awaited package.

Aziraphale tried to keep himself busy by scheduling his next term lessons, seeing that he couldn’t concentrate enough to read (the Count was still waiting for him on the armchair in the lounge).

So, he was already in front of his computer when he received a notification signaling that a user wanted to chat on Zoom.

When Aziraphale opened the app, he found out it was Beez. He smiled at that, figuring that it was probably a good idea to see how things were going back in New Haven.

After agreeing with a short message, he soon received a link to access the conference call that Beez had just set up.

He clicked on the link and the screen split up to show his image on the right side and Beez’ on the left. He could see his tenant caught on camera and he was very glad to notice how fine Beez looked. They were smiling, apparently well rested and refreshed. America suited them, evidently.

“Hello, Beez!” Aziraphale politely greeted them.

“Az! You look great, man, how’s England treating you?”

“Everything is fine, dear. Your house is very welcoming and cozy and I’m enjoying my time here tremendously.”

“Great to hear that, Az.”

“Is everything okay there? Did my brother Gabriel help you settle in my house?”

“Er– yes, yes. ‘f course he did. Nice lad, your bro.”

Aziraphale couldn’t help but notice some edginess in Beez’ movements. It almost felt like they wanted to cut that particular conversation short.

“So, what ‘ve you done until now?” Beez asked. “You blended in with the locals? Met Tracy yet?”

Aziraphale chuckled at that.

Is it possible for a stranger to get to Tadfield without meeting Tracy?

“Yes, I met her. She’s lovely.”

“Wait to meet her hubby; Shadwell’s a piece of work, you’ll see.”

“I didn’t have a chance, yet.”

Aziraphale didn’t know if Crowley would want Beez to know about their involvement, but they were bound to find out sooner or later. So, he decided to make this easy and force the information on them.

“I did meet your brother, though,” he announced.

“Ah! ’m sorry you had to deal with that dipshit.” Beez laughed, clearly joking.

But Aziraphale had never been that good at lying. He suppressed a nervous chuckle.

“Uhm… I– I reckon there are worse things to be sorry for.”

Beez scrutinised Aziraphale’s expression, but they hadn’t time to analyse it better because they received a notification. They looked at another portion of the screen, probably reading a message of some kind.

“Hey, Az, Crowley wants to catch up, you mind if he joins us for a bit?”

“Er, actually–”

“Sending the link now!” Beez informed him.

Aziraphale wanted to protest, but he couldn’t find a good reason to justify not wanting to talk to Crowley. Not without uncovering the truth of what had happened between them, at least.

Thus, a few seconds later, Crowley’s stunning face appeared on the screen, dividing the Zoom window into three portions.

(If Aziraphale decided to pin Crowley’s image so that it was bigger compared to Beez’ and his own, well that was only for him to know.)

“Hey, Beezzzz… Angel?!”

Crowley’s look of terror was so comical that Aziraphale almost laughed.

“Crowley,” he simply uttered.

Beez was observing their interaction in silence, clearly trying to figure out what was going on.

“How are you?” the two men asked at the same time.

“Good.”

“Fine.”

“Great.”

“Marvelous.” Crowley nodded exaggeratedly.

They shut up. And Beez watched their brother as if dissecting him.

And then Crowley began to sing to himself. The first song that came to his mind.

And of course, it was Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy.

Again.

“So, you sing when you’re nervous, too?”

Aziraphale didn’t know what had possessed him to say that. But as soon as he noticed what he was doing, Crowley stopped, and the tune died in his throat.

Anyway, the damage was already done, and Aziraphale closed his eyes hoping that this was just a bad dream. He couldn’t cope with the embarrassment.

“Az, do you mind me talking to my bro in private for a minute?” Beez eventually asked.

“Of course, my dear,” he agreed, glad to be taken out of this misery.

“I’ll put you on hold.”

Aziraphale nodded and waited to be excluded, expecting to see the Waiting Room (he wasn’t the smartest with new technologies, but he’d become sort of a Zoom expert during lockdown to keep up with his lessons on streaming). The screen indicating that the meeting host would let him in shortly never appeared, though. On the contrary, he hung around to witness Beez snapping at their brother.

“You slept with him, didn’t you?” they snarled.

Crowley tried to act confused and outraged. “What?!”

“Shit, Crowley! The only thing the poor sod asked me before jumping on a fucking plane was if there were cheeky guys in Tadfield to be warned of!”

Aziraphale wanted to be quiet and feign detachment, he really did. But he couldn’t. He probably felt as ashamed as Crowley at Beez’ accusations.

“And I said, what the fuck, ‘f course there’s no one, Tadfield is a fucking hole, come here and have your little cock-free vacation!”

Crowley was flustered and humiliated, Aziraphale had never seen him so lost for words.

“Didn’t know I should ‘ve warned him against you because you can’t keep your damned prick in your pantssss!” Beez screamed.

Crowley opened his mouth, maybe he was trying to make up an excuse for his behaviour. But Aziraphale beat him to it. When he heard Beez mentioning Crowley’s ‘prick’ and ‘pants’ he couldn’t stand it anymore; he fidgeted with his hands, knocking over his mug. (Fortunately, he’d finished his tea a while ago.) However, the noise startled the other two as Beez realised that they’d never actually put Aziraphale on hold.

Crowley looked at the screen as a desperate man who would rather be buried alive than find himself in such a predicament. And the fact that he wasn’t wearing his sunglasses wasn’t helping.

“Uhm… hello. I’m still here,” Aziraphale broke the awkward silence.

“Oh, fuck,” Beez intelligently commented.

“Yep.” Crowley snorted, averting his eyes from the screen and rubbing his thighs to keep himself occupied.

“I’ll put you on hold now,” Beez repeated, clicking on something with their mouse.

Aziraphale knew that, according to Murphy’s Law, anything that can go wrong will go wrong. So, he wasn’t surprised when Beez didn’t manage to actually put him on hold. Again.

“How could you think that shagging the man that rented my cottage was a good idea? He trusted me, I told him he’d have a peaceful holiday!”

Aziraphale sighed and waved at the screen with a sad smile on his face. “Still here.”

“Oh, bollocks!” Beez swore again. “How the fuck do you put people on hold on this fucking thing!”

And suddenly, Crowley didn’t look desperate anymore. He sought eye contact with Aziraphale, even if they were separated by a computer screen. And he smirked in a sultry, lovely way that made Aziraphale weak in the knees. Aziraphale smiled in return, letting Crowley know that this was kind of amusing for him, too.

“Ok, I’m done with this shit. Can one of you assholes tell me what the fuck is going on?!”

Crowley eventually found the courage to stand up to his sibling. “What’s going on, sibs, is that Aziraphale is enjoying his English vacation.”

“Enjoying being the keyword here,” Beez snarled back sarcastically.

Aziraphale closed his eyes in exasperation.

“We went to the pub with the guys, made a trip to London and we watched Doctor Who with the kids.”

“You introduced him to Adam and Lock?!” Beez gaped at their brother.

Aziraphale wondered why Crowley had decided to give Beez this little piece of information, given the precarious balance of their conversation. But he’d learned that Crowley never did the most obvious thing. And yet, he glared at his sibling when he went on. “To be fair, it wasn’t really my decision to make.”

Crowley’s eyes fell on Aziraphale with an unintelligible expression. But he didn’t need to decipher it to know that Crowley still resented him for going to his house uninvited. He also didn’t need him to remind him of his silliness, though, because Aziraphale felt guilty enough already. When Crowley noticed his discomfort, he opened his mouth to say something, but Beez beat him to it.

“No, no, just– uhm– this is… uhm… unprecedented. A man meeting the boys, I mean.”

And then Beez stared at Crowley and Aziraphale with a knowing look on their face, as if they had realised something very important.

The two men couldn’t help but blush, both very aware that the night Aziraphale had spent in Adam and Lock’s company had been a once-in-a-lifetime kind of thing.

Aziraphale had eyes only for Crowley, now.

Could he be more perfect than at this moment, so vulnerable and delicate? Could I miss his presence more than this?

Given that Crowley and Aziraphale were virtually exchanging stolen glances whilst trying to avoid blushing in front of one another, they almost didn’t notice what was happening beyond Beez.

But when their eyes caught on, they saw a tall, muscular and very naked man walking in Aziraphale’s living room with a cardboard box in his hands as the only means to cover himself.

They both gaped at the sight for a few seconds, but when the man walked towards Beez, they both lost it.

“What the–” Crowley began.

But he was soon interrupted by Aziraphale’s, “Oh, fuck!”

🎄🎄🎄

Saying that Crowley was shocked to hear his angel swear in real life was the understatement of the century. He was amazed, blown away, thrilled and inevitably turned on.

Sure, he’d heard Aziraphale using the f-word in very different circumstances. During the two nights they had spent together, the word had escaped his angel’s mouth like a prayer when he’d asked Crowley to– Stop thinking about it or you’re going to disgrace yourself in front of your sibling AND your lover!

He couldn’t help it, though. Crowley was freaking out, wondering if he would ever get the chance to hear Aziraphale moan like that again, begging him for his release, imploring him to– nghhhhh. The mere thought was driving him crazy; all things considered, maybe it was lucky that they were separated by a screen.

Crowley also realised that one day he should thank his sibling (and his lucky star) for always being ready (as if they had made Semper paratus their very own motto) and keeping a well-stocked drawer of supplies in the bathroom.

The other night, it would have taken Crowley a natural cataclysm to keep him away from the angel for more than a few seconds to collect everything he needed from the drawer of wonders. (Of course, Crowley kept his own special stock in one of the backseat compartments of the Bentley, but to go and fetch the supplies would have meant keeping his hands off Aziraphale for a few devastatingly long minutes, and that wasn’t an option back then.)

In hindsight, they had managed to keep a clear mind for an unexpectedly long time, given the escalating situation. That first night they had spent around fifty seconds in a proper conversation about safe sex. Aziraphale had told Crowley about his lack of a sex life in the last few months (predictable, given the all ‘not-the-right-person’ business) as well as recalling a recent and very convenient clean bill of health. On the contrary, Crowley’s sex habits were far more eclectic, so he’d reassured the angel that he got tested every couple of months, and that his last clean test had occurred after his last partner.

(Funny story, they didn’t even get to use lube and condoms their first night. And as for the second… Well, maybe this wasn’t the right time to remember how lewdly Aziraphale had squirmed when Crowley had fingered him before – and while – taking him in his mouth.)

Crowley was definitely digressing.

(And fortunately he was covered by his desk from his chest down.)

Focus, you pathetic idiot!

He really needed to get back to the present and deal with whatever was going on the other side of this hallucinating conference call.

And what was going on was a man in his birthday suit standing beside his sibling. With a fucking box in his hands!

Beez had finally realised that they weren’t alone in the room anymore, and their surprised expression was so genuine that it felt almost comical. Almost.

“Hey Az! How’s the trip?” the man waved.

What the f– did the man know Aziraphale?

“Gabriel! What the f- hell are you doing naked in my house… with my guest!?”

Crowley noticed that Aziraphale’s impeccable posh English accent had evaporated, giving way to a much more aggressive American pronunciation (and slang).

Maybe it was something that happened to his angel when someone made him angry.

(And seriously, Aziraphale had no right to look so hot when snarling at his brother like that. He was talking as if ready to smite him with his wrath.)

Beez and Gabriel exchanged a worried look. “Well, things escalated pretty fast on our side, too.”

Crowley looked at his sibling with curiosity and suspicion. “Since when?” he asked them.

“Don’t know.” They looked at Gabriel, who shook his head, uncertain. “Maybe fifteen minutes after we got back to the house?”

Gabriel nodded in agreement, the box still firmly in his hands.

“Good Lord.” Aziraphale sighed. “But Gabriel… why, oh why for heaven’s sake are you walking around naked carrying a box?!”

Crowley used one hand to hide the huge smile that his angel’s question had brought to his lips.

Fuck, I miss kissing that sharp tongue.

“Az, we’ve got secrets, too,” Beez replied, giggling along with Aziraphale’s brother.

“Anyway, he just got to the door to retrieve a package from a courier.”

“Naked?!” Crowley almost regretted asking, knowing he wouldn’t like the answer.

“The gent was a very open minded courier,” Gabriel reassured them. “Oh, which reminds me, Aziraphale, everything’s fine with the delivery?”

“Yes, yes, let’s talk about it later.”

Crowley noticed that Aziraphale was squirming in his chair, and he’d obviously tried to cut his brother short. Gabriel shrugged and got out of the shot, leaving the three of them alone again.

“Beez, please, tell me you thought this through. Fuck, with Hastur it’s been over for less than a month!” he scolded his sibling.

“I know what I’m doin’, Crowley. ’m not a baby, I don’t need you to keep me away from danger!”

This last sentence felt like a blow. Crowley knew that sometimes his tendency to protect them was too much, but he couldn’t help it. Beez would always be his little sibling, to him.

“Don’t know if you noticed, Az, but he tends to get over-protective.”

Crowley was shooting daggers at them.

If only this fucking monitor could materialize objects!

“Yes, I must admit that’s a distinctive trait that came up the first day Crowley and I met,” Aziraphale spoke before he could. “But it didn’t bother me. In fact, this isn’t the first thing that I would complain about in his personality. Not that I’ve found something to complain about.”

Crowley was both flattered and insanely besotted with him.

“Thank you, angel,” he murmured in response.

The pet name was too much for Beez. They sighed in exasperation and rolled their eyes.

“Jeez, all these fucking heart eyes ‘re killing me. Seriously, you’re making me sick with all the sappiness.”

Crowley decided to ignore his sibling’s tantrum.

“All right, ‘ziraphale let’s talk later, eh?” Beez decided. “I’m having a lot of fun, I just wanted to thank you again for this opportunity.”

Aziraphale stared back at Beez. Crowley’s impression was that these two extremely different people happened to understand each other. You could read it on their faces.

“You’re welcome, my dear.”

The angel was beaming, and for a second Crowley felt almost jealous of his sibling for being on the receiving end of such an incredible masterpiece. But the sentiment only lasted a few seconds, because Aziraphale completed his previous thought by saying, “Besides, I am the one who should thank you.”

And then he looked at him. Right into Crowley’s eyes. Into his soul.

Fuck.

His angel was thanking his sibling for being the catalyst for their meeting. And he was leaving no doubt about the importance of this statement.

Crowley’s heart skipped a beat. Maybe more than one.

“Are we still on for our return flight on the 29^th?”

And the moment is gone.

Aziraphale smiled sadly. “Yes, my dear.”

“Right.” Beez clapped their hands. “Fine, see you soon, bro. Please, send my regards to the brats. I miss them, but don’t tell ‘em.”

Crowley chuckled. He knew how much Beez loved Adam and Warlock.

“I’m coming back with lots of presents to make up for it.”

“You’d better,” Crowley reprimanded them, but with a smile on his face.

With that, Beez waved at them and closed the call, leaving a demon alone with an angel.

Five seconds.

It was all it took for them to burst out laughing. Crowley had never heard Aziraphale cackle like that. It felt exhilarating and fulfilling.

“Can you believe this?” he asked amid the laughter.

Aziraphale’s chuckles subsided, and he immediately got more serious.

“Totally unbelievable. Going on holiday and doing the unexpected? What a ludicrous idea!”

‘Yeah, I really would like you to do the unexpected.’

The memory of Crowley’s answer to Aziraphale on their first night together felt bittersweet.

Crowley looked at his angel intently, he didn’t want to close his eyes, not even for a second, if it meant that he would miss a moment of those gorgeous eyes and fluffy hair.

“Yeah,” Crowley almost whispered, his voice coming out low and soft. “What were they thinking?” He was referring to his sibling. But it was obvious that he was also talking about the two of them.

About this weird situation, this… something that existed between them.

Aziraphale waved his hand much like he had done when Crowley had spotted him that night at the pub. And he couldn’t help but stare back at his angel in adoration, returning his goodbye. And then they both left the videocall, and Crowley found himself alone in his office, looking at an empty screen.

That was a thing.

And not because he’d seen his sibling in the company of a naked stranger. (Well, maybe a bit.)

No, Crowley was more bothered by the realisation that seeing Aziraphale after their last poignant conversation had brought up a whirlwind of emotions.

He wanted to be honest with himself. He’d never felt such longing for someone. The need and the pining in the absence of another human being he was attracted to.

But was that merely attraction anymore?

Is it just attraction when you miss someone because you want to share everything with them, even the littlest things?

Crowley opened his browser app to continue his previous search. Aziraphale had mentioned that the Boltons were the owners of Meadow View, and that the property was on sale.

A quick check of various real estate agency sites had provided the information Crowley was looking for. The agent in charge with the selling was his old friend Nina, and this was terrific news because he could ask a favour to someone like her.

And since they had parted ways the night before and his enlightening conversation with Lock, Crowley had been wanting to do something good for Aziraphale.

Partly because he wanted to appear friendly with his sibling’s guest. Partly because it was almost Christmas, and the angel deserved a gift. (Mostly, he wanted to see his angel smile for something that he had done for him.)

He didn’t understand the true implications behind this compelling urgency (yet). But whatever the reasons, Crowley found himself dialing Nina’s agency number.

She answered after three rings.

“It’s fucking Christmas Eve and I’m almost done with work, if this isn’t a matter of life or death, I don’t want to hear it.”

Crowley chuckled at his friend’s usual scornful tone. “Hey Nina, it’s Crowley.”

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t my favourite six-shots-of-espresso uni mate, Anthony J. Crowley.”

“How’s life treating you?” he asked, a big charming smile on his face.

“Like it caught me in bed with his wife,” she joked. “To what do I owe the displeasure?”

“You’re the agent for the old Boltons residence, aren’t you?”

Crowley could almost hear Nina’s smile on the other end of the line, “Yes. Why, are you interested?!”

“Er… no. Not really. But I suppose you have the keys in case someone wants to visit, right?”

“That’s standard procedure, yes.”

“Well–”

“Why do I have the feeling that this call is going to get me into trouble?”

“Not trouble per se… just…” Crowley didn’t know how to ask.

“Are you asking me to do something that may present a moral argument?”

Crowley chuckled. “A moral argument? Really?”

“What do you need, Crowley?”

“A favour for which I will forever be grateful.”

“How grateful?”

“Most grateful. Let’s say I will owe you one.”

For a moment, Crowley thought that Nina’s silence was lasting too long and that he’d pushed too hard. But after a deep sigh, his friend replied.

“Fine!” she caved in, mostly in exasperation. “So, what do you want?”

“Can I borrow the keys to Meadow View?”

“Ok. But you must come and fetch them because the agency closes in one hour and I want to go home and help Maggie prepare for Christmas.”

“Ok. I’ll be on my way in ten minutes, I just need to tell the boys.”

“And I want them back before the end of the year!”

Crowley reminded himself that Aziraphale would be gone by the 29^th. He was trying to compartmentalize that information, because he wasn’t ready to deal with it, yet. But at least, he would be able to follow Nina’s instructions.

“Don’t worry about that.”

“It must be someone special.”

“Who?” Crowley asked, already covering the distance to join Adam and Lock who were playing upstairs.

“The man you’re doing this for.”

Crowley blushed.

Shit, am I so obvious?

“He’s an angel.”

Chapter Text

In hindsight, Aziraphale should have known better than to spend Christmas morning in the company of The Count of Monte Cristo. After reading this excruciating passage, he’d found himself sniffing, realising that finishing the book hadn’t been the healthiest decision.

He was crying for Mercedes’ doomed fate, for a young love wrecked by external influence, and for a vengeful Count who, in the end, had found it in his heart to accept what his former lover had done.

Good Lord, I’m a softy.

But Aziraphale wasn’t crying only for the fictional characters. He was still considering his life compared to Mercedes’ and he couldn’t help but feel sorry for himself. He still identified with the Catalane, unable to accept Edmond’s decision to leave her behind and pursue a new love he wasn’t even sure of. He always felt unfulfilled whenever he read the last couple of pages of the novel.

That last ‘perhaps’ sounded so farfetched that Aziraphale couldn’t stand it. He read the last part (the ‘wait and hope’ moral lesson never got old, even after reading it for the umpteenth time), then he snapped the book shut (at last), annoyed by its conclusion.

Shaking his head to shrug off some tension, Aziraphale decided to make some tea. And that was the moment he heard the knock at the door.

He gasped in surprise. Maybe it was silly, hoping to find Crowley across the threshold, but Aziraphale couldn’t help himself.

(After all, he’d just read a book that ended with the words ‘wait and hope’.)

It was only a matter of a few seconds, though. Aziraphale knew that Crowley was spending Christmas with his family, he certainly didn’t have time to even think about him.

When he opened the door, he found a very beaming Tracy on the other side.

“Merry Christmas, luv!”

“Madame Tracy, what a lovely surprise! Please, come in!”

“Thank you.”

Aziraphale noticed that the woman was carrying a Big Brown Bag, so he offered to take the weight from her. “Please, let me help you with that.”

“Actually, that’s why I’m here, Mr Eastgate.”

“To get some help with the transportation of heavy presents?” he asked with a chuckle.

“No, luv!” She giggled. “That’s for you!”

Aziraphale was stunned. “You got me a present? I’m so terribly sorry, Madame, I didn’t think you would–”

“No, no! This is a present from Mr Crowley!” she clarified immediately.

“What?!”

Aziraphale was looking at the bag with newfound interest and anticipation.

Madame Tracy noticed his change of demeanor and smiled to herself. “Yes. He’s such a gentleman, our Anthony, isn’t he?”

Aziraphale found himself nodding at that consideration, still speechless. (And flustered.)

“He came to my shop this morning, asking me to deliver this and wish you a Merry Christmas.”

“Did he?” Aziraphale’s tear-stained eyes were gazing at her with incredulity.

Tracy nodded. “Sure he did, luv. You know, I wasn’t really surprised when he told me you knew each other…”

Aziraphale was alarmed. “Wh– Why?”

“Because you’re living in his sibling’s house, of course!”

Tracy slapped him playfully on the arm, and Aziraphale exhaled a breath.

“Sure, sure. Uhm… he’s been around to– uhm…”

Tracy looked at him with mischief. “You don’t need to explain yourself to me, Mr Eastgate. It would be a real crime not to taste a treat like that, uh?”

“Madame Tracy!” Aziraphale cried out in shock.

But Tracy had already done her magic. They shared a knowing look before bursting out cackling. Being able to laugh about this crazy situation with someone felt liberating.

“I did a reading about you, you know?”

“Did you, now?” he asked, still smiling.

“Mm-hmm. The cards never lie, Mr Eastgate. And the ones I got for you were to be interpreted unequivocally.”

“Which cards did you get?” Aziraphale asked, too curious for his better judgment.

“The three of swords for your past, the seven of cups for your present and the two of cups for your future. All of them in upright position.” [1]

“What does it mean?”

Tracy smirked at him. “That you should open the gift.” She nodded at the bag. “And then you should come celebrate with me, Mr Shadwell and a few friends.”

Aziraphale shook his head. “Oh, no, I couldn’t possibly bother you with my presence.”

“Of course you could!” she almost yelled. “And you will!”

“But–”

“No buts. I expect to see you at one pm sharp. Our apartment is above the store.”

Aziraphale sighed. “If you insist. But you must allow me to bring some wine. It’s the least I can do.”

“All right. We’ll see you later, Mr Eastgate.”

Tracy had already stepped foot outside when Aziraphale called her back. “Madame Tracy?”

She turned and looked expectantly at him.

“Thank you,” he said with fondness.

“You’re welcome, luv.”

Alone again, Aziraphale focused on the task at hand: opening his gift.

This was the only present he would receive this year, and it was from a person who’d been a stranger to him no more than six days ago. A person he was starting to get ridiculously (disturbingly?) attached to.

The package inside the brown bag was a standard size and weight. Aziraphale shook it, but no sound came from it. He unwrapped the present with meticulous care (he usually kept the paper of important gifts, and this was the most important he’d received in a while).

When he was done, he had a book in his hands.

It was an old, wrinkled copy of Angels & Demons by Dan Brown.

Why in heaven would Crowley give me a book of one of the most overrated authors of our time?!

Maybe it was an allusion to his well-established tendency to call him ‘angel’ and referring to himself as a demon? But then, why give him a second-hand book?

Aziraphale didn’t have to speculate much longer because, as soon as he opened it, he found a card tucked into the title page.

Angel,
You asked me once what kind of editor I am.
Now, you may find out for yourself.
Some of the annotations for this “masterpiece” were part of my PhD thesis.
Others were just for my own amusement.
I hope you enjoy reading them as much as I loved making them up.
Merry Christmas.
C.

“This can’t be for real,” Aziraphale observed, scrolling the pages to open a random one. He stopped around page 470.

Crowley’s comments were hand-written in the margins, alongside the sentence they referred to.

Next to Langdon’s plea ‘Take me. Please…’ he’d written:

And next to the last paragraph he’d commented:

Aziraphale chuckled like a kid who’s just found a hidden jar of marmalade. He couldn’t wait to read more. More of Crowley’s sharp and witty remarks about one of the most acclaimed contemporary authors (of which, apparently, they shared a mutual disdain).

It looked like Crowley couldn’t stop impressing Aziraphale, even from afar. Even when he didn’t intend to.

He just hoped that Crowley would like his gift at least as much as Aziraphale was adoring his.

After making sure that Crowley and the boys were celebrating at home (Aziraphale had sent a message to Beez to be certain), the courier had been instructed to deliver the presents and an envelope to Tadfield Manor around twelve. And now it was 11.30, which meant that Aziraphale needed to get ready if he wanted to make it to Tracy in time. But curiosity prevailed, so he decided to read a couple more annotations.

Aziraphale laughed even louder, then he went upstairs to shower.

The Angels & Demons - Crowley’s Edition volume took its place of honor on the bedside table in his bedroom.

🎄🎄🎄

Since Newt and Anathema’s untimely death, Crowley had established the tradition of celebrating Christmas at Tadfield Manor along with Beez, Newt’s and Anathema’s parents. Crowley had hoped that surrounding Adam and Lock with the people who loved them would help the kids endure the festivity without their parents. It usually worked pretty well, and apparently this year was no exception.

Adam and Warlock were so happy with the gifts they had received that they were already setting them up in their playroom while waiting for their grandparents’ arrival.

Crowley was finishing up with all the cooking whilst he set up the table. He’d been so busy with all the preparations that today (fortunately?) he’d had little time to think about Aziraphale.

Which meant that he’d only had some time.

(Ok, maybe not that little time.)

In fact, Crowley was checking his mobile every other minute, waiting to hear from Tracy. She’d certainly been to Bluebell Lodge, by now.

The thought of giving Aziraphale a gift had been a spur-of-the-moment decision. The night before he’d gone to his office to take the mobile he’d casually forgotten there, then his eyes had casually fallen on his bookshelf. He’d casually figured out that he wanted to give one of his volumes to Aziraphale. And he’d casually chosen one of his favourite annotated books to share his most intimate thoughts about one of the worst-written novels he’d ever regretted reading (not that the story wasn’t good, per se, but the style, gosh! He might as well have directly written a script for the movie).

Ergo, while he was in town with the kids for their traditional Christmas breakfast, Crowley had personally brought the present to Madame Tracy to be delivered to his angel.

Being her usual altruistic self, the woman had gladly volunteered to deliver the gift, and she’d also suggested Crowley to invite him for lunch.

Flushing at the mere thought of introducing Aziraphale to his extended family, he’d politely declined, justifying himself by reminding Tracy that Christmas was a day to be spent with family and relatives, not with one-time visitors (no matter how angelic and perfect they are, but he didn’t mention this out loud).

Tracy had then asked for permission to invite Aziraphale over herself, because she didn’t like the thought of that pretty face all alone at Christmas.

Feeling a little pang of jealousy, Crowley had told her that it was a generous offer, and that he was relieved that Mr Eastgate wouldn’t spend the holiday on his own.

Then Tracy had handed over two presents for Adam and Lock and she’d said goodbye to Crowley, promising that she would visit Bluebell Lodge later in the morning.

Crowley was adding the last garnishes to his Christmas pudding when his mobile buzzed with a notification. His eyes twinkled when he read Tracy’s message informing him that she’d delivered the package and that Aziraphale had agreed to join her and Shadwell.

He let out a sigh of relief, glad that his present was finally in the right hands, but also amused by the fact that his angel would spend a crazy afternoon in the company of a bunch of crazy New Age people. Crowley wondered how Aziraphale would react in front of a self-proclaimed witch hunter like Shadwell. He smiled to himself, secretly craving to be around to enjoy the show, but his thoughts were soon interrupted because someone rang the bell. Knowing that Adam and Lock were otherwise occupied, he went to the door himself.

Crowley was anticipating the boys’ grandparents’ arrival, so he was a bit taken aback when he found a young courier at his doorstep.

“Er– hello?”

“Delivery for a Mr Anthony J. Crowley.”

“On Christmas Day?!” he blurted out, confused.

“I can guarantee that the sender really wanted you to receive your gift in time, you should thank him.”

“Who sent this?” Crowley asked whilst signing on the device with a touch screen pen.

“Uhm… a Mr Eastgate,” the lad said, looking at the tag on the package.

“Aziraphale?!” Crowley grabbed the huge box from the man’s hands.

“No, it’s, uhm–” He looked at his shipping note. “Mr Gabriel Eastgate.”

Crowley stared at the young courier as he walked away, even more dazed than when he’d opened the door. Why was Aziraphale’s brother sending something to him?

‘Oh, maybe it’s from Beez!’

“Hey, Mr Crowley!”

The delivery man was running back, holding a white envelope in his hands.

“I’m sorry, I was forgetting this!” He offered the letter to him. “Merry Christmas!”

“Merry Christmas…” Crowley’s voice was still tentative.

He closed the door behind himself with a foot as he walked towards the kitchen. He put the huge box on the table, focusing his attention on the envelope.

A simple ‘Crowley’ was written in an elegant handwriting that didn’t belong to his sibling, that was for sure. All that came out of the envelope was a white card with a few lines written on it.

Dear Crowley,

I asked Gabriel to send me a few gadgets from Yale.

I do hope that Adam and Warlock appreciate the selection and that the shirts will improve their fabulous collection.

Crowley gaped at the note and then at the box. He stopped reading because he wanted to open the package at once. As Aziraphale had pointed out, he found all kinds of items in the box: caps, uniforms, shirts, hoodies, shorts, socks, shoes, keychains and even badge holders.

This isn’t a selection. This is a whole fucking gift shop!

But on the bottom of the box, a very different object caught his sight. It was a bubble-wrapped book. Crowley could distinguish the title through the transparent wrapping: Much ado about nothing.

Of course, he would choose this.

Crowley knew that the smile on his face wouldn’t disappear for quite some time. It was only when he unwrapped the book that he realised that something was terribly wrong.

This wasn’t a common version of Shakespeare’s comedy. This was something completely different. Something rare. Something huge.

He frantically turned his attention back to the note (that he had previously put on the table).

I have a confession to make. The other night, I scanned the Shakespeare section in your office, and I noticed it missed a proper edition of one of my favourites. It’s not a ‘gloomy one’, so I assume you should enjoy this.
Thank you for everything you’ve done for me.
Merry Christmas.

Aziraphale

Crowley chuckled at the ‘gloomy ones’ bit. But a second later, his heart skipped a beat reading his angel’s thanks for everything he’d done for him.

Crowley checked the book. He was an editor, no, he was a fucking good editor, probably the best in London. But he’d never held such a magnificent volume in his hands.

This was a Second Folio edition printed by Thomas Cotes.

How in hell does Aziraphale possess such a rarity?

And why is he giving it to ME?!

Crowley couldn’t believe this. This was wrong on so many levels. You don’t make this kind of gift to someone you’ve known for less than ten days. You don’t give away such a valuable object to someone as devilish as Crowley. You don’t go around making people happy like a ridiculous angel performing a miracle to bless a protégé.

Crowley opened the book almost desperately, hoping to find out that this was a prank, that he was just imagining things. He turned a couple of pages with extreme gentleness, and that was when he noticed an inscription.

To my angel,

I’m proud of you.

Mum.

Crowley might as well have had a stroke because his brain stopped functioning properly for a couple of minutes.

Not only Aziraphale had given him a very rare book, a precious Shakespeare edition of inestimable value.

This is a fucking heirloom.

A priceless memento that the angel’s mother had left to her son.

Oh, yeah, about that.

Crowley recalled the moment he’d started calling Aziraphale ‘angel’ (what a hopeless idiot) and yet another piece of the puzzle finally made sense.

‘Oh, no, it’s just that… there was only one person who called me that and– well, they are not here anymore, and it was just… unexpected, that’s all.’

Crowley had managed to guess Aziraphale’s mother’s pet name for him in one single attempt. Of course he’d enjoyed it. His mother called him that. And his beloved mother was probably the only human being Aziraphale had ever truly loved.

And now the angel was giving HIM her book.

Why?!

Crowley couldn’t accept it. This was too much.

And then he growled to himself, thinking about the silly, inappropriate and totally inadequate present he’d had the audacity (idiocy) to give the angel.

How could he have possibly thought that delivering a second-hand version of Angels & Demons (one of the most horrible novels ever written) to Aziraphale would be enough?

I’m a useless fucking idiot! Nothing will ever be enough for him!

He could almost picture his angel, unwrapping his present and eventually realising that he’d been a fool to ever consider Crowley someone worth knowing.

Even worse!

Gabriel had sent the box so that it could be delivered within Christmas, but Aziraphale had found out about the boys’ love for football only two nights ago.

How, HOW had Aziraphale managed to perform this… miracle?!

For fuck’s sake, he really is an angel, there’s no other explanation! A snap of his fingers, and the presents vanished from Connecticut and reappeared in England. Ta-dah!

Crowley couldn’t believe this.

Aziraphale had probably spent a fortune on overseas shipping fees so that Adam and Lock could get their gifts in time. Nobody had ever done anything even remotely comparable to what Aziraphale had just accomplished.

Crowley took his phone. He needed to call him. He could still catch him, maybe he hadn’t left the cottage to go into town, yet.

But his resolve vanished into thin air when he found a new message from an unknown number.

+1 203 555-XXXX

Today

+1 203 555-XXXX

Hello, this is Aziraphale. I asked Tracy for your number. I really wanted to thank you for the thoughtful gift. I’ve only had time to read just a couple of notes here and there, but I can’t wait to be back after lunch and read more. It’s going to be a long, pleasant night. _{11:57 AM}

Crowley gaped at the screen and sighed in relief. Maybe his gift hadn’t been that stupid? From what he’d just written, Aziraphale had enjoyed it. He saved the angel’s phone number and then he texted back.

Angel

Today

Crowley

Just wait until you get to the chopper part 😏 😏 😏_{11:57 AM}

Angel

It’s funny that you mention that, because one of the notes I already read was about a “fallen angel” 👼🏻_{11:57 AM}

Crowley

🤣 🤣 🤣_{11:57 AM}

Angel

Thank you, Crowley. It was a wonderful surprise. You shouldn’t have._{11:58 AM}

Crowley

You’re really someone, talking about ‘shouldn’t have’! How could you make your brother deliver all that stuff in less than two days?!_{11:58 AM}

Angel

A magician never reveals his secrets._{11:59 AM}

Crowley

👀_{11:59 AM}

Crowley

Adam and Lock are still in shock. They already put their shirts and caps on, they loved them so much..._{11:58 AM}

Angel

I’m glad they enjoyed their gifts._{12:00 PM}

Crowley

They’re ecstatic, angel. I haven’t seen them like that...well, in a while. I really don’t know how to thank you._{12:01 PM}

Angel

Your present will keep me good company tonight. That’s all the gratitude I need, I promise._{12:00 PM}

Crowley

You gave me your mother’s book, Aziraphale._{12:03 PM}

Angel

You didn’t like it?_{12:03 PM}

Crowley

I simply ADORE it. It’s now officially the most valuable thing I have in my house. And we have a Grand Piano in the ballroom, as you already know._{12:04 PM}

Angel

I’m glad you appreciated it._{12:04 PM}

Crowley

But the book belonged to a person who meant the world to you. I don’t want you to regret this one day._{12:05 PM}

Angel

Of all the things I’m going to regret one day, giving the book to you won’t be one of them._{12:05 PM}

Crowley

Are you sure?_{12:05 PM}

Angel

I’m sure._{12:06 PM}

Crowley

Are you sure that you’re sure?_{12:06 PM}

Angel

Quite sure._{12:07 PM}

Crowley

Fine. I’ll keep it safe, I promise._{12:08 PM}

Angel

I know you will._{12:08 PM}

Angel

Please, wish Adam and Warlock a very merry Christmas on my behalf._{12:09 PM}

Crowley

I will, angel. Merry 🎄_{12:10 PM}

Crowley

ttyl_{12:10 PM}

Angel

?_{12:11 PM}

Crowley

😅 It means ‘talk to you later’, Aziraphale._{12:12 PM}

Angel

I thought your fingers had stumbled on your phone._{12:13 PM}

Angel

Merry Christmas, dear._{12:13 PM}

Crowley felt his cheeks burn as soon as he read the last word.

Chapter Text

December 26th

You know that feeling you get when you feel safe?

Like when, in the event of a sudden torrential downpour, you find yourself outside in the rain and just when you think you are going to get soaking wet, someone covers you with an umbrella.

And you shelter under it, and you feel everything’s going to be fine, because that person looks at you with a smile on their face, and you couldn’t possibly feel more relieved than that?

Well, Aziraphale hadn’t experienced anything like that in a while. Probably since his mother’s death, perhaps even before. The fact that he didn’t enjoy other people’s company certainly contributed to a lack of such sense of safety. But, in his defense, Aziraphale had always had a nonexistent bond with his father, a tormented up-and-down relationship with his brother, and awful socialisation skills in general (even with Rafe, as he had bleakly found out).

(His mother had been an exception, of course, but mothers love their children no matter what.)

As a result, Aziraphale was still trying to come to terms with what had been happening to him since he’d arrived in Tadfield, because against all odds, he had met a delightful mix of heterogeneous people with whom he managed to interact affably and easily.

Madame Tracy, for starters. The first person he had met here. A friendly local shopkeeper who had greeted him with a smile on her face and a warm attitude. A woman who had invited a stranger over to celebrate Christmas together.

Her husband, Mr Shadwell (the self-appointed Witchfinder Sergeant Shadwell), was the most unusual human being Aziraphale had ever had the chance to talk to. His accent was an indecipherable mixture of Scottish consonants and something else and his rough appearance was that of a grumpy, rusty caricature of a man. The first thing he’d asked his new guest (‘How many nipples have you got?’) had confused Aziraphale to the point that Tracy had intervened to get Shadwell away from him, explaining that that was his common greeting to sneak up on undercover witches. When Aziraphale had reassured Shadwell that he had just the usual two nipples, the two men had started a comfortable conversation about old Tadfield, and Aziraphale had been rewarded with a few anecdotes about the Bolton family (which, apparently, had always been a godsend for the townspeople).

Later, Aziraphale had met two couples with their respective children: the Moonchilds with their daughter Pepper (he had learnt very quickly that the girl despised her given name – Pippin Galadriel – when she had admonished him never to call her that again), and the Millers with their son Jeremy (Aziraphale had struggled to find out his first name, seeing that their parents usually called him ‘youngster’ and his best friend Pepper called him Wensleydale).

It was the second time since his arrival to Tadfield that Aziraphale had enjoyed the company of two kids. He wasn’t really surprised, though, seeing that Pepper and Wensleydale were good friends with Adam, Warlock and another boy, Brian, who was away with his family for Christmas.

When the kids came to know that Aziraphale had already met Crowley’s nephews, they had started to share detailed tales about their weird bunch (Tracy had then mentioned that everyone in town called the four peers The Them). Even if Warlock was a year older than his brother and the other Them, he kept hanging around his brother and his friends, if nothing else to keep them out of trouble (most of the time).

Later in the afternoon, feeling comfortable enough, Aziraphale had shared part of his own emotional baggage, talking about his mother’s passing and how he’d just broken up with his partner. At that point, Madame Tracy had cast a look of understanding at him and said, “Three of swords, luv.”

Aziraphale had rolled his eyes amicably, but Tracy had asked him to remember the reading, because ‘cards never lie’.

So at ease he’d felt with all of them that he hadn't noticed how late it was when he decided to head back home.

Tracy had tried to convince him to spend the evening with them, but Aziraphale had felt that he’d imposed enough for one festive day. He’d taken his leave with a bag full of leftovers (Tracy had forced him to take the food to make sure that Aziraphale had a proper lunch on Boxing Day). Pepper and Wensleydale had said their goodbyes with fondness, asking if they would see him again in town before his departure. (Aziraphale really hoped they would.)

“Adam said that you showered him and Warlock with gifts,” Pepper had said, reading a text on her mobile.

“Did he?” Aziraphale asked, (badly) feigning humble indifference.

“Yes!” Wensleydale had confirmed, showing him his mobile.

Aziraphale had looked at a Whatsapp group chat, and the last messages were from Adam.

The Them

Today

Adam

Mr. Eastgate is WICKED! 🔥🔥_{5:57 PM}

Adam

He’s the best friend uncle Crowley ever had!_{5:58 PM}

“I think you won them over,” Pepper had noted, sounding far more mature than a girl of her age. “Adam says ‘wicked’ only when he truly likes someone.”

Aziraphale had felt genuinely moved by that revelation. He’d smiled at the kids, then he’d thanked Tracy again for her hospitality and he’d finally returned to Bluebell Lodge.

After spending a delightful day with such lovely people, Aziraphale was starting to understand his mother’s love for Tadfield. Maybe they had lived here in different times, and they had known different people, but Aziraphale had to admit that she had been right all along: Tadfield exuded some kind of magic, so much so that happiness felt somehow reachable, attainable, almost tangible.

However.

The afternoon spent at Tracy’s wasn’t the main reason why Aziraphale was experiencing the happiest Christmas Holidays since his mother’s death four years ago.

As a matter of fact, his actual inner turmoil resulted from a very different source.

A red-haired, long-limbed, enchanting source, to be correct.

His resolve not to contact Crowley after their Christmas morning texts deserved a designated clinical trial, because Aziraphale couldn’t figure out why he was acting like a coward. Maybe scientists could determine when his brain cells had stopped functioning.

(Probably the moment he’d opened the door of Bluebell Lodge and the very same man who was hunting his sleep (and his wake) had said ‘You’re not Beez’ to his face.)

Aziraphale wanted to be with Crowley. He couldn’t stand the thought of not seeing him again, considering he was due to leave in three days. But he couldn’t make that first move.

Try not to think about him.

Maybe, just like any other obsession, he needed to take it out of his system, somehow.

Killer hips.

He could go outside.

Sharp shoulders.

Take a walk.

Crimson hair.

A long walk.

Snake tattoo. Long fingers. Sharp cheekbones. Thin lips. Devilish tongue–

Perhaps a very long walk.

Amber eyes.

Forget the walk, he needed a cold shower.

🎄🎄🎄

After the longest and coldest shower of his life, Aziraphale ate some of the leftovers. He washed the dishes with overzealous accuracy, trying to keep his mind busy.

Oh, look at the nice floral pattern of this tray! It looks like Tracy loves some flora on her crockery.

He decided to actually take that long walk; he had to return all the borrowed tins and plates to Tracy, anyway.

It was a nice day.

All days had been nice since his arrival.

The cold was mitigated by a tepid sun and Aziraphale was enjoying the scenery even more than the other times he’d taken this route to town.

When he arrived at his destination (Tracy’s shop), he was a bit surprised to find it open at two PM on Boxing Day. But then again, Madame Tracy wasn’t the average shopkeeper.

“Mr Eastgate! What a nice surprise!” She welcomed him.

“Oh please, Tracy, I thought we were on first name terms since yesterday.”

“Sure, luv,” she smiled at him. “What can I do for you?”

“Actually, I’ve brought your things back,” he placed the huge bag on the counter and Tracy noticed that all her tins and plates had already been rinsed and wiped.

“You are an angel, Aziraphale.”

He was taken aback by that remark. “Why would you say that?”

Tracy’s cheeks turned pink. “Er– I guess I heard it somewhere.”

Aziraphale’s lips were already moving to ask for a clarification, but his resolve jumped out of the window when he caught a glimpse of a slender redhead out of the corner of his eye and– why was his heart beating like that?!

“Angel!”

Crowley’s voice sounded so surprised, pleased, and thrilled at the same time that Aziraphale glanced at Tracy in embarrassment (shame?). She smirked back at him, a silent look that clearly meant, ‘You see where I get that angel nonsense from?’

Of course, Crowley had referred to him as ‘angel’ while talking to Tracy.

Is there a limit to how absurdly smitten a 42-year-old professor can be?

“Hello, my dea– Crowley.” He stopped himself from calling the man ‘dear’ in front of Tracy at the last second.

Nice save, try and not embarrass yourself even more than that, Aziraphale.

“How was Christmas?” Crowley asked, the huge grin never disappearing from the man’s gorgeous face.

“Oh, we had so much fun!” Tracy cut in, clapping her hands. “Mr Eastgate is such a storyteller!”

“Is he now?” Crowley’s gaze moved from Tracy to Aziraphale, the grin now accentuated by a pinch of mischief and his trademark smugness. Aziraphale felt so warm that he was literally sweating.

“Oh yes, he’s a sweetheart. And Pepper and Wensleydale loved him. He’s so good with kids.”

Aziraphale was so interested in staring at his shoes that he almost missed Crowley’s next sentence.

“Yeah, I’ve kind of noticed.”

His eyes finally ended up where they desperately wanted to be (glued to Crowley’s). Not that he could actually see the other man’s eyes, covered as they were by the usual sunglasses. But devoted awe and fondness were written on Crowley’s face so much so that Aziraphale was completely overwhelmed.

“Listen, Aziraphale–” Crowley clearly had something to take off his chest, but a hesitant glance at Tracy made him stop.

“Oh, uhm… I’ll go check on my dairy stocks,” she kindly excused herself.

Crowley spoke again when he felt more comfortable.

“I’m glad I’ve bumped into you; I was on my way to the cottage either way.”

Aziraphale felt hope lighting up inside of him almost like a rekindled fire.

“You– you were coming to see me?”

“Yes, uhm… I’ve got something for you,” he rummaged in his pocket and took out a set of keys. “You told me that your childhood house was on sale, so I did some digging and it turns out that the seller is an old friend of mine…”

Aziraphale stared at Crowley, trying to find out where he was going with that.

“Uhm… well, I asked her for the keys so that you could go there and… get inside.”

Aziraphale’s eyes grew so wide that he almost startled Crowley.

“It’s– It’s not a problem, I checked with her, she just made me promise to give her the keys back within the end of the year, and well… she also mentioned something about not stealing anything, but you don’t strike me as the burglar type, eh?” he chuckled nervously, waiting for some kind of reply.

When Aziraphale didn’t give him one, Crowley kept talking. “I’m sorry, I saw Nina two days ago and I probably should have mentioned this yesterday, but you know, with fucking Christmas around the corner and all the arrangements for Adam and Lock, I couldn’t break free sooner and–”

Aziraphale put his hands on Crowley’s, squeezing them gently.

“My dear…” It felt so good to call him that without the apprehension of being heard. “You don’t need to apologize. As a parent, you have an obligation to put the boys first at all times. I would have been very disappointed in you, if you’d missed any Christmas duty to come and see me.”

Apparently, he’d said the right thing, because Crowley sighed in relief and smiled.

“Well… here you go.” Crowley’s cheeks had turned almost as red as his hair, by now. “You can give them back as soon as you’re done.”

Aziraphale looked at the keys in his hands with terror.

These were the keys to his mother’s house, Meadow view. He could get inside.

(All because of Crowley.)

He gaped at the man, no words coming out of his mouth.

Speechless, again. His skull a useless shell for a non functioning brain.

(All because of Crowley.)

His silence and anxiety were probably evident, because Crowley’s expression turned into an apologetic one. “You– you don’t have to go, if you don’t want to. I just thought that… you’re leaving in a few days and maybe you wanted to… you know…”

Aziraphale squeezed his eyes shut.

Crowley had thought about this?

About his feverish desire to get inside his childhood house?

A house he could visit now? (All because of Crowley.)

“I’m sorry, angel. I thought this was a good idea, I didn’t want to intrude… but now I see I shouldn’t have–”

When Aziraphale felt Crowley’s fingers slip away from his, he stopped them by squeezing his hands again, this time a little tighter. The other man looked at him, clearly dumbfounded. Crowley’s sunglasses slid down on his nose, and Aziraphale got a glimpse of the lovely eyes behind the lenses.

“Thank you, Crowley,” he finally managed to say. “I’d really love to go.”

Crowley sighed heavily and smiled at him, nodding almost imperceptibly to let Aziraphale know that he was glad about his decision.

Then he suddenly pulled away, heading for the door.

“I’ll see you around, then,” he said. “Let me know when I can take the keys back. Or leave them at Beez’, you know… just, uhm… nghhh– let me know. See ya.”

Aziraphale witnessed helplessly as Crowley exited the shop, sauntering towards the Bentley parked on the other side of the road.

Madame Tracy popped up at his side. Aziraphale glanced at her, and the look in her eyes spoke for itself.

‘Seriously?!’ she was silently asking, a grimace on her face.

It was enough for Aziraphale to react. “Oh, shut up,” he scolded her.

Tracy chortled brightly while he ran towards the door.

“Aziraphale!” she called after him.

“What?” he asked, almost upset that she was holding him back.

“Seven of cups,” she reminded him, a satisfied smirk on her face.

Aziraphale shook his head and left the shop, walking as fast as he could to reach Crowley before he could leave. He was already getting inside his car, so he resorted to extreme measures.

“Crowley!” he shouted, his voice louder than it had probably ever sounded.

“Aziraphale? What, did I forget something?” Crowley asked as soon as he turned to look at him.

Aziraphale put his hands on the top of the car and a warm sensation engulfed him. It was weird, and for a second he imagined that the Bentley was almost happy to see him again.

“Where are Adam and Warlock?” he asked abruptly.

“Uhm… with their grandparents, I’ll go get them tonight. Why?”

Aziraphale realised he had probably been a bit rude. “Well, I was thinking… uhm…”

He sighed, wishing it was easier to find the exact words to ask.

“Oh, bugger… Would you come with me? To the house, I mean.”

And he couldn’t see Crowley’s eyes, but judging from his eyebrows and his open mouth, he hadn’t been expecting this. Or maybe he was just astonished because Aziraphale had sworn.

His second assessment was probably the correct one, seeing that Crowley chuckled.

“You sure?”

Always the gentleman, Crowley was clearly giving him another way out in case he’d changed his mind in the last two seconds.

“Quite sure,” he said with a grin, quoting their texts almost strategically.

Crowley tilted his head to the side, clearly inviting him to get in. And that gesture spoke louder than a thousand words.

🎄🎄🎄

The trip in the Bentley was spent mostly in silence.

Crowley assumed that Aziraphale had a lot on his mind, right now. He didn’t want to intrude more than he already had.

He’d been scared to death when Aziraphale had remained silent back at Tracy’s, sure that he’d really crossed a line, this time. Fortunately, his lovely, clumsy angel had just been absorbing the news and his final reaction had been worth the few seconds of tension.

Crowley was still trying to analyse his behaviour, looking for a common thread to explain why in hell he was making a complete arse out of himself.

Inviting Aziraphale to the pub, the London getaway, allowing him to meet Adam and Lock, the fucking customized Christmas gift, and now the keys to Meadow View.

The crux of the matter was that Crowley was coming up with an answer.

He didn’t like it one bit. In fact, he was frightened and concerned about it. He didn’t have the guts to admit it, not out loud, not even to himself.

And yet, the answer was there; dormant, lurking, dangerously clamouring to come out into the open.

As they drove towards their destination, Crowley attempted a few glances at the angel sitting at his side. Aziraphale was playing with his signet ring, the precious piece of jewelry he never separated from. Crowley had known him for only a week, but he’d spent so much time staring at the man in his car that by now he felt pretty confident in interpreting Aziraphale’s mannerism, every gesture, every single expression. And now, the angel was fidgeting with his fingers and his ring, which meant he was nervous.

“Don’t worry, angel,” he broke a silence that had lasted a few minutes. “It’ll be fine.”

“You think so?” he asked back, a tense chuckle escaping his mouth.

Crowley took his right hand in his.

Wow, we feel bold today?!

“I know so,” he promised.

(His brain shouted a loud, silent wahoo when Aziraphale didn’t withdraw his hand.)

🎄🎄🎄

They parked the Bentley outside the house. Crowley decided to keep a discrete distance from Aziraphale and let him move at his own pace. Nobody was running after them; the angel had all the time in the world to do this.

Crowley had never found himself in such a situation: he’d inherited his parents’ house, so he’d practically never lived anywhere else. Furthermore, Ana and Newt’s house had been sold by their relatives, so he and the boys had never gotten a chance to get back there. The nostalgia brought up by a place where you were happy a long time ago was a brand-new and unfathomable concept, to Crowley.

Nevertheless, he wanted to be there for his angel, should he need him. He wanted to be strong for him and support Aziraphale through this.

Exactly, why again?!

“This must have been nice, back then,” Crowley broke the ice as they walked towards the entrance.

“Yes.” Aziraphale smiled sadly to himself. “Well, I don’t remember much. Just fragments.”

Crowley nodded, letting the angel talk.

“The bricked path… I’m almost certain I used to hop on the bricks, one by one.”

Then he pointed at the fence. “That wasn’t always white. I believe it was green, at some point, but then my mother asked for it to be repainted.”

“Ah, the classic fairy-tale white fence,” Crowley joked, trying to ease the tension (successfully, seeing that Aziraphale laughed along with him).

“And the garage… well, my mother told us it used to be a warehouse back in the 50s. I think my father might have owned a couple of vintage cars.”

“Mmm, maybe I was too quick to judge the bastard, uh?”

Aziraphale chuckled. “Oh, my dear, you most certainly were not.”

They were in front of the door now, the moment of truth. Surprisingly, Aziraphale took the keys and opened it unreservedly.

‘Maybe he’s anxious to get inside and get this over with’, Crowley thought to himself.

He had to reconsider when the angel entered the house and his eyes immediately filled with tears.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I– I–”

“Hey.”

Crowley took Aziraphale by the lapels of his coat, slowly pulling him in a heartfelt, comforting hug.

“I’m ridiculous,” Aziraphale mumbled in the crook of his neck. (Crowley was fucked.)

“Sure you are,” he said, earning a chuckle from the other man, whose face was now completely hidden between his collarbone and his neck. “You’re the most ridiculous angel that ever walked the earth. But not because of this, Aziraphale.”

Crowley felt his own tension ease when the angel nodded against his skin wet from his tears.

“Ok?” he asked, voice as soft as possible.

Aziraphale left the shelter he’d found in Crowley’s arms (but was it a shelter for the angel or for himself? Or maybe both?) and Crowley followed him as he walked around the house, rediscovering rooms he remembered and others he couldn’t recollect at all.

Aziraphale told him about the kitchen. As busy as his mother was, she always found the time to have breakfast with her children, because ‘it’s the most important meal of the day.’

But the kitchen was the reign of their cook, a plump middle-aged woman whose name Aziraphale couldn’t quite remember, but he was sure that she looked like Mary Poppin’s cook. Or maybe he was just superimposing that character to a person from his childhood that used to have a similar occupation.

Then came the mastodontic lounge, and Aziraphale’s jaw almost fell to the floor when he saw a very old upright piano against a wall. He practically ran towards the instrument, opening the keyboard lid to reveal still functioning keys. The angel was overwhelmed by his emotions, too overwhelmed to try playing. Crowley came to his aid, sliding his fingers on the keys to play the well-known intro of Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata. He grimaced when, after a few measures, he realised that the instrument was hopelessly tuneless.

He let out a series of nonsense consonants. “Well, this seriously must be tuned.”

“This was my first piano,” the angel shared. “My mother played for me; this is where she taught me the rudiments of music.”

Crowley looked intently at him, and he was so fucking glad to see that Aziraphale was smiling. It brought a huge grin on his face, too.

Next came Aziraphale’s bedroom. Not much had survived after almost forty years of vacancy. Anyway, Aziraphale wasn’t looking for something in particular and he hadn’t got very vivid memories of this room.

The next stop was his parents’ bedroom. Or better, his mother’s bedroom, seeing that Aziraphale’s parents had almost always slept in separate rooms.

“Sometimes they went on holiday together, and good Lord, I can’t figure out why.”

“Maybe they wanted to keep up appearances,” Crowley reasoned. “Many couples do that kind of stuff, especially in wealthy families.”

“Did they sleep in separate rooms even when they booked a hotel, you reckon?”

Crowley shook his head, he had no idea, but what followed was even worse.

“I wonder… did they ever love each other?”

Crowley was flabbergasted and completely unprepared for such a personal question. And he felt like he wasn’t really the right person to talk about love.

He didn’t know what it meant to wholly devote oneself to another human being. To cherish them, rejoice in their thriving, fall apart in their absence, wish to wake up next to them every morning for the rest of your life.

(Or at least this was what he’d been convinced of until a few days earlier.)

“Look!” Aziraphale interrupted Crowley’s flow of thoughts.

The angel’s attention had been caught by a little frame hanging on the wall. From the looks of it, it was a little 4x3 inches painting.

“What is it?” Crowley dared to ask.

Aziraphale was examining the item with trembling fingers, his breath suddenly irregular.

Maybe it was a bit harsh, but Crowley couldn’t see the importance of a second-class drawing depicting a field of bluebells.

“My mother loved bluebells. Actually, that’s the reason why I chose Beez’ ad. For the name of the cottage.”

Crowley sent a silent prayer to thank someone below or above that his sibling’s house name was Bluebell Lodge. If it hadn’t been, he would have never met the angel.

He didn’t even want to linger on such a terrifying scenario.

Aziraphale ignored Crowley’s silence and went on, “She once told me that when we moved to the States, she had left behind something she really cared about, a drawing that she had painted herself when she was a little girl.”

Oh.

“She told me that it was a little thing, and she knew it was silly to miss it, but it was the only thing she had kept of her childhood, and she truly cared about… this.” Aziraphale rubbed his fingers on the frame, smiling sadly to himself. “I could tell that she felt sorry for forgetting this.”

“If she was so unhappy in New York, why didn’t she come back to her hometown after the divorce?” Crowley asked in disbelief.

Aziraphale just shrugged. “I have no idea. At first, she probably busied herself with obligations. She was so invested in charity work and galas… and later she just wanted to be there for us, she was such a present mother.”

“But she could have come back just for the sake of it. Make a trip or something.”

“I really don’t know why. What I know is that in the end, she regretted her decision. That’s the very last thing she made me promise. To get back here, I mean.”

“Did she?” Crowley asked, incredibly humbled by the fact that his angel was confiding in him.

Aziraphale’s eyes were still fixed on the drawing. “She said Tadfield was the last place where she’d felt happy. And she wanted to share this feeling with me.”

“And are you?” Crowley blurted out.

The angel’s eyes finally locked with his. So eloquent, even without words.

I could drown in there.

“Happy, I mean?” he clarified.

Aziraphale pondered his question for a few seconds, then he looked at the heirloom in his hands.

“I’m starting to think that I have never felt happier.”

Next thing Crowley knew, Aziraphale was beaming at him.

A genuine, perfect smile that caused a blast and a subsequent system failure inside Crowley’s mind as he was transported back to a very different time and a very different place.

🎄🎄🎄

“It’s going to get better, Crowley.”

“I know, Ana. But right now, I feel like shit.”

They were walking side by side in the park, and the first cold wind of Autumn was blowing leaves all around the place. Newt, Adam and Warlock were having a competition to see who would crush the most.

Crowley had broken up with Ash a couple of weeks earlier (after finding out that the scumbag had been the most unfaithful arsehole that had ever existed).

Crowley was heartbroken. Their relationship had lasted a whole year, and he’d thought that Ash really cared about him. Crowley had believed him when he said that he loved him. He’d been such an idiot.

“It’s not your fault, Crowley. How many times do I have to say this before you believe me?”

“Maybe I could ‘ve–”

“No!” Anathema snapped. “Sweetheart, you’ve done nothing wrong, ok? Ash was a moron, a– a– a cheating douchebag! He didn’t deserve you in the first place.”

“I thought he loved me.”

Ana scoffed, skeptical. “Maybe he did, at some point, in some very twisted way. But I’m not so sure you were ever in love with him.”

“Of course I was!” Crowley whined.

“I don’t know. I think you loved him, but you were never in love with him.”

“What kind of difference does it make?!” Crowley complained, waving his hands in the air like a maniac.

Ana replaced the sunglasses that were sliding down the tip of Crowley’s nose. “You know when I first realised that Newt was the one?” she asked softly, her eyes looking for her husband, who was still playing with their kids not far from them.

Crowley just shrugged.

“It was my birthday, the first we celebrated together. And he had one of those ridiculous ideas that are so typically Newt’s.”

“Like when he forced us into a Star Wars marathon before watching The Force Awakens?”

Ana chuckled. “Yeah, or when he begged me to name our firstborn after a class of Dungeons & Dragons.”

“Well, you did both those things.”

“I did, yes,” she replied, seriously. “But you don’t know why.”

“Then tell me, witch,” he urged her, his teeth aligned in a forced smile.

“It was my birthday, and I was expecting a present, because, you know… it was the first fucking birthday since we’d started going out. And this complete prick has the great idea to give me an annual subscription to dancing lessons.”

“I thought you liked dancing.”

“I like dancing now. But I hated it, back then.”

“Did he know?” Crowley asked, nodding at Newton’s direction.

“Maybe not. But when he gave me my present, he said that nothing would have made him happier than learning how to dance with me, because he wanted to be prepared.”

“Prepared for what, exactly?”

“For our first dance as husband and wife.”

Crowley chuckled at that. “Really?”

“Don’t laugh, you idiot!” Anathema playfully swatted his arm. “It was one of the sweetest things he ever said to me! No wonder I proposed after a couple of months.”

“You are ridiculous,” Crowley confirmed.

“Maybe. But that was it, for me.” Ana got serious again. “Newt said that it would make him happy to dance with me. And when I thanked him, he had the biggest grin on his face, and I thought, oh, ok, this is what love is all about.”

“Dancing?”

“Making your significant other happy. Truly happy. Seeing a smile on their face for something you’ve done for them. At least, that’s how it works for me.”

Right then, they heard laughter coming from down the path. Apparently, Newt had just slid on a bunch of soft, wet leaves, and the boys were mocking him. Newt stood up and chuckled along with his sons.

Crowley glanced at Anathema who only had eyes for Newt. She looked very much in love, and he couldn’t help but envy her and the bond that she shared with her husband.

“So, happiness is the key to a good marriage?” he asked his best friend.

“Well, it is for me. Making each other happy with the little things.”

“Like a Star Wars marathon.”

“And naming our son Warlock.”

They put their arms around each other’s waist and resumed walking.

“You think I’ll find someone, one day?” Crowley asked, full of newfound hope.

“Of course, Crowley. You know, maybe happiness is the key to a good marriage, but having the ability of getting inside those fucking trousers is a benefit,” she joked, pinching his hip.

“Ouch!” he whined dramatically.

“Oh, and don’t forget the second crucial thing to guarantee a blissful union.”

“And that would be?”

Ana smirked. “Good sex.”

Crowley narrowed his eyes on her. “It’s not for everyone, you know?”

Ana nodded seriously. “I know. But it really does it for me.”

Crowley’s laughter was so loud that it scared the ducks in the nearest pond.

🎄🎄🎄

And now here he was. His mind spiraling into a whirlwind of memories and his heart beating faster as if on a rollercoaster of feelings.

Crowley had been looking for an answer. Something to explain his recent behaviour, his imperative necessity to do things (all kinds of things) to please Aziraphale.

He stared at his angel who was still smiling at him. And it was so obvious that he felt happy. Incandescently happy, someone would say.

Crowley tried to ignore the feeling growing in his stomach, he really tried.

But then, Aziraphale said something that was bound to fuck him up forever.

“Crowley… If it hadn’t been for you, I’d have never gotten here.”

Great, now it’s my turn to be unable to speak.

“Without you, I wouldn’t have found this.”

The angel caressed the little memento in his hands, and Crowley had the most peculiar reaction when he found himself being jealous of a 4x3 drawing.

I wish I were that painting. I wish I were the object of your devotion.

“Thank you, dearest,” Aziraphale wrapped up his speech (actually, his monologue, given that Crowley had forgotten how to use his bloody mouth).

His angel smiled at him again. (And it was so obvious that he felt happy.)

Oh, shit.

That was no common smile. (Thank you, dearest.)

This is a total fucking disaster.

That was a smile that could melt winter into spring.

A smile that Crowley himself had put on those delicate, gorgeous lips.

Because the reason why he had asked Nina for the keys to Meadow View was pretty obvious. Crowley would do anything to make Aziraphale happy.

And that smile was the answer that Crowley had been trying to avoid in the last few days.

I’m in love with him.

Fuck.

Chapter Text

December 27^th

Aziraphale was spending the day after Boxing Day on his own, which was a first since his arrival in England. To be fair he’d stayed home on Christmas Eve as well, but the video call with Beez and Crowley (and naked Gabriel, yuck) had been the highlight of that day.

After the events of the previous afternoon, one might have expected him to have a lot to ponder about.

A whole lot.

As Aziraphale sat in the comfy armchair close to the fireplace, he reminisced about all the little steps that had brought him to Meadow View.

Receiving his mother’s house keys (from Crowley).

Crying as soon as he’d entered said house (in Crowley’s arms).

Exploring the rooms (with Crowley).

Spotting his old piano (played by Crowley).

Finding his mother’s painting and sharing his relief (with Crowley).

Feeling happy (all because of Crowley).

When his… how was he supposed to call Crowley, now? Friend? (so reductive) Lover? (maybe a little too much) Affair? (sounds like a mistress) Sex-buddy? (good Lord!) Demon? (no, that is just a fun contrast to my own nickname) Paramour? (Crowley would probably tease me endlessly).

Confidant.

Yes. That should work.

When his Crowley (fffu – there you go, Aziraphale, you can’t even stick to your own choices) had taken him back home (calling Bluebell Lodge ‘home’ didn’t feel weird anymore, and the fact that it didn’t feel weird anymore felt weird), they hadn’t kissed goodbye.

Aziraphale hadn’t even tried to ask Crowley to come in, partly because he knew he was due to fetch Adam and Warlock from their grandparents’ house, partly because he was starting to realise that the habit of having Crowley around, depending on him… it was rapidly turning into an addiction. And Aziraphale knew that it would be nearly impossible to detox from Crowley.

Because whatever it was that they were having, whatever they wished to call it, this wasn’t a dalliance anymore (if it ever was).

Maybe their… thing… had started out with a kiss followed by a most unexpected passionate night (please, don’t go there again, I can’t stand another cold shower), but their relationship had evolved so much since then. It had turned into camaraderie, companionship, friendship.

Aziraphale trusted Crowley. He’d shared some of his most intimate secrets with him, things that not even his brother knew.

And this trust… frightened him.

The thought that he could depend on Crowley, that he could rely on him.

Because in fact, he couldn’t, could he?

In two days, Aziraphale would get back to New Haven. And he wouldn’t see Crowley ever again.

No more cozy cottage, no more trips to London in a car driven as though hell was running after them, no more lunches together, no more interesting conversations, no more strolls in Berkeley Square.

Out of the blue, an old song dear to his mother came to Aziraphale’s mind… and before he knew it, its lyrics overlapped with his current brooding.

No more nightingales.

Aziraphale rubbed his face, trying to shake himself from a very dangerous inner monologue that could easily turn into a disaster.

His eyes fell on the copy of Angels & Demons that he’d already finished reading. In hindsight, getting such an intimate perspective on one of the most (the most?) brilliant minds he’d ever had the chance to deal with hadn’t probably been a good idea.

Not when he was in such a thoughtful mood.

He wouldn’t see Crowley anymore. Ever.

And this shouldn’t bother Aziraphale so much.

Today, he was treating himself to… a breath of fresh air. Back to his old self. On his own. Finally!

Then why, why wasn’t he enjoying some alone time?

Aziraphale used to be good at this. Better, he used to be the best at this.

Back in New Haven, even when he’d been with Rafe, he craved his solitude, working from home or reading a book. He considered those times like a refuge from his everyday life, which wasn’t frantic per se, but it was chaotic enough to a non-people-person like Aziraphale.

And yet today, inexplicably, he longed for company.

No.

He longed for a rambling redhead to show up and call him angel.

You’re being ridiculous. You’re a grown man, professor Eastgate, get a wiggle on.

As he took the kettle to make himself a well-deserved tea, he came to the realisation that he needed to reconcile the pathetic excuse of a man he’d become in the last few days with his older self, the more rational, well-spoken academic.

Trying to ignore the little voice screaming in his head, asking if he really wanted to get back to what he was before this trip, Aziraphale decided to call his brother.

Yes. Listening to Gabriel’s tedious rants would do the trick. He would fall back into old habits; he would feel a bit more like his old self.

🎄🎄🎄

His brother was clearly surprised to hear from him, but he also sounded… pleased?

“So, last couple of days, Az. Feeling homesick, yet?”

“Uhm… no, not really,” Aziraphale said, a little too honestly. “I’m trying to come to terms with what I was expecting from this holiday and what I actually got.”

“Yeah… I know the feeling.”

Aziraphale scoffed in disbelief. If there was something Gabriel wasn’t good at, it was feelings.

“How, how could you possibly know the feeling?”

“Well… you know, you’re not the only one who met someone.”

Aziraphale almost fell from his chair.

“Beez… they’re quite something.”

“Are they?” Aziraphale couldn’t help it when an incredulous smile appeared on his face for the first time that day.

“Yes, I mean… we have nothing in common, and yet… they see right through me, you know? Like I’m worth it, I mean…”

(Aziraphale knew agonizingly well what his brother meant.)

Gabriel sighed, he was obviously having difficulties at expressing himself more clearly.

“You know what it’s like when you don’t know anything at all, and yet you’re totally certain that everything would be better if you were just near one particular person?”

This time, Aziraphale did tumble off the chair. Not with serious consequences, he managed not to hit the floor, he simply found himself standing up very quickly.

“I suppose I have no idea what that feels like,” he lied.

Why was he lying to Gabriel?

Why was he lying to himself?

“I don’t know, it’s just… I like having them around. And it looks like they… reciprocate. And it’s weird, because we barely know each other, but–”

“But?”

Gabriel sighed again. “I don’t know. Maybe I just wish they didn’t have to leave in two days, that’s all.”

Good Old Professor Eastgate had expected that talking to his brother (one of the most self-centered, egotistical bastards in the whole world) would clean up the messy thoughts that were crowding the mind of Present Aziraphale.

Apparently, he’d been wrong.

🎄🎄🎄

December 28th

Crowley didn’t know what had possessed him to volunteer to act as designated parent and bring Warlock and The Them to the amusement park.

(He was a lying liar who lies, because he knew.)

He needed a distraction.

He’d spent most of the previous day wallowing in the aftermath of his epiphany about being in love with Aziraphale. (Needless to say, that hadn’t been a very nice day.)

Plans to get to the cottage to declare his unconditional love to the angel had alternated with the far more realistic acknowledgement of the terrible truth he was trying to ignore.

Aziraphale would be gone in less than two days.

It wasn’t fair to even consider telling him.

‘But maybe he loves you back. Maybe he wants this too’, Crowley’s inner voice tempted him.

Maybe he will stay.

Oh, what a delightful thought to dwell on.

Then, the other voice (by now, Crowley couldn’t say if it belonged to the demon on his left shoulder or the angel on his right) dragged him back to his messed-up reality.

He won’t stay. He is a professor at Yale, you’re nothing but a seasonal fling.

Crowley had really struggled to focus on anything else. He hadn’t even noticed when Adam and Warlock had called him downstairs to pay the delivery guy who’d arrived with their dinner.

And then that night, when he was trying to sleep (to no avail), he’d remembered vividly all the things Aziraphale had told him.

‘And it’s not about you. I’m starting to think that I can’t fall in love, that I’m not cut for it. Not like other people, anyway.’

‘Singing with my mother gave me joy, it made me feel loved. It made me feel like I could love.’
‘This is why you think you are not cut out for falling in love?’
‘I don’t know. Maybe. Obviously, I thought it was getting better when I got with Rafe, but–’
‘But you never sang when you were with him.’

The angel had already set things straight.

Aziraphale didn’t fall in love. He wasn’t cut out for it (his words).

Crowley had things to say about that, especially after having witnessed the most incredible beaming smile a human being had ever bestowed on someone else.

Because, let’s face it: Aziraphale was so beautiful and pure and perfect and kind that accepting a reality in which such an ethereal creature was incapable of love was unthinkable.

Maybe it all came down to this: his angel could love, but he didn’t know how.

From what Crowley had inferred about Aziraphale’s ex (the dick), it sounded like the angel had hoped to find someone to love, but he’d ended up with a broken heart and the conviction that he wasn’t lovable (fucking preposterous – not loving his angel? What the fuck was is ex even thinking? He didn’t have eyes, or ears, or… a heart?).

‘Yes, maybe you should also stop thinking about him as your angel’, said the demon on Crowley’s shoulder.

But the more he thought about it, the more he wished he could be the one to change Aziraphale’s beliefs about love, and about falling in love, and about being in love.

He also wished he could make his angel (shit, stop it!) realise how incredibly beautiful and amazing he was, just enough to make him stop with all his nonsensical self-loathing.

‘See, I know I’m not particularly attractive–’

‘One of the reasons we broke up is that he considered me to be… not very good at– at the sex thing. He mentioned it once or twice, and… well, he cheated on me because he felt that sex with us wasn’t that good.’

If only Crowley could make Aziraphale understand how great he was. How lucky anyone would be to have him in his life. A ridiculous, intelligent, kind, soft, unintentionally funny and beautiful angel.

‘I am a dull, soft professor and you are… a smart, funny, attractive, sexy man. Extraordinarily attractive and sexy, to be fair.’

Crowley had a dreamy smile on his face whenever he recalled that last particular exchange, the resulting blush that had bloomed on his own face, the awareness that it had been the first time that someone (anyone) had ever told him something like that.

Generally, he never felt at ease at receiving compliments. Of course, the men he usually slept with were full of flattery when they wanted to take him to bed. And Crowley wasn’t an idiot, he knew how he looked and how he’d always wanted to look when he was in search of a diversion to spend the night.

Ash had been the first and only man who’d made him believe that he could be actually beautiful. Until his traitor’s dick had found its way inside most of the arses of Tadfield.

When Aziraphale paid him a compliment, it felt like he meant it. Before calling him sexy, he’d called him smart. And funny. The angel had gotten the chance to know a part of Crowley that he had kept hidden for years. They could talk, and they could laugh. They could cry together, and they could share.

Crowley had never hoped to find that someone.

And now, he would have to face the impossible task of letting him go.

Hence, the amusement park.

🎄🎄🎄

“That’s the job I wanna do when I grow up!” Brian yelled.

“That’s not a job!” Pepper complained. “And you like it only because they throw cakes in your face!”

“Can you blame me?” Brian protested. “You’re up there, and they throw dessert at you!”

Crowley chuckled, knowing far too well Adam’s friend’s predilection for ice cream and sweets in general.

“But it’s stupid!” Adam groaned.

“Language, kid,” Crowley admonished him.

“It is!” Adam whined. “You’d think people’s aim would be better than that, but most of the people who tried to hit Mr Tyler right in the face failed!”

“He’s too far,” Warlock said. “I’ve seen this kind of stand in other parks. The target should be far closer than that.”

Crowley nodded, proud of Lock’s brilliant mind. “He’s right, you know? I believe Mr Tyler is just a bit of a coward.”

“I heard that!” the man shouted from behind the safety of the cardboard panel. Crowley shook his head and hushed him from afar.

“The paper plates are too light, they fall inches before the target. It’s impossible to hit him from here!” Pepper explained, as she threw another paper plate at the man (without success).

“I wish we could hit him!” Wensleydale confessed, as his plate fell on the ground, a little closer to Tyler but certainly not enough.

“Nah, let’s try something more entertaining. How about the shooting gallery?” Crowley proposed.

“Yes!” the kids answered in unison.

Crowley gave some money to the vendor so that all the kids could have a rifle and a chance to win a gadget. The fact that the first price was an Arsenal official t-shirt made Adam and Warlock squirm in excitement.

“We so need that t-shirt!” Adam said to his brother.

“Try to win it, then,” Crowley challenged them.

“We only have five shots each!” Wensleydale reminded the group.

Crowley chuckled when he noticed that Warlock was looking at his rifle with worry. “Come on Lock, don’t chicken out!”

“I don’t think I’m a very good sniper,” Lock admitted. “Are you giving us another chance to get the prize, if we miss the targets the first time?” Lock asked his uncle.

“I most certainly am not,” Crowley answered seriously. He’d already spent a fortune. (Not that he couldn’t afford it, but he didn’t want to send out the message that the kids could have anything they wanted without working for it.)

Warlock looked over Crowley’s shoulders and his eyes sparkled with mischief.

“What if he asked?”

“Who?” Crowley asked, oblivious.

“Hello, kids!” said a voice behind them.

Crowley and The Them had clearly been too concerned with their little challenge to pay any attention to their surroundings. Warlock was the only one who’d noticed the man in the bowtie who was now joining their little gang.

“Mr Eastgate!” a chorus of children's voices filled the air as The Them and Warlock crowded around Aziraphale to greet him properly. They also seized the chance to introduce him to Brian.

Crowley found himself unable to move or speak for a while; the little puffs of air coming out of his mouth were the only clue to the fact that – apparently – he was still breathing.

“The Yale stuff you gave us was so cool, thank you!” Adam was grinning.

“Yes, Mr East, you really shouldn’t have.”

Aziraphale looked at Warlock with unconcealed fondness and Crowley felt his heartbeat grow faster, faster… for god’s sake, please, don’t you even think about singing that fucking song out loud!

(Because of course his mind would conjure up Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy just to spite him.)

“It was my pleasure, Warlock.” Aziraphale ruffled Lock’s hair in a sweet gesture, and Crowley gasped when the angel’s eyes finally met his. Or at least, his sunglasses.

Say something, you pathetic, useless human being.

“When I decided to take the kids to the Carnival, I would never have thought that I’d bumped into an angel.”

Aziraphale flushed, and this time it was his turn to keep silent.

“I mean… you’d expect carnivals to be… a demon’s turf,” Crowley clarified.

Good job with the explicit unrequired bicker-flirting, Crowley.

“Then, it’s your area of expertise,” Aziraphale quipped.

Crowley just gaped at him.

Cheeky angel. I can’t. I just fucking can’t, with you.

How this man could be so unexpectedly funny and ridiculously charming at the same time, Crowley would never know.

During their little banter, the kids had clearly wasted all their attempts at the shooting gallery without winning.

“It’s not fair!” Pepper yelled.

“We had twenty shots and we all missed!” Adam whined, on the verge of tears.

“You can’t always win, Adam,” Crowley lectured him kindly.

“I still have my ammo, though,” Lock pointed out.

“Maybe…” Aziraphale interrupted them, drawing everybody’s attention to himself. “Your uncle could try to win the shirt for you?” he suggested.

When Crowley turned and caught the angel gazing at him with those pale-blue-grey-green eyes (fuck, what colour are they!?), he incredulity, and thrill, and amusement, and arousal wash over him (yes, all at once). Because he’d never seen such a bitchy expression on another man. Ever.

The angel was looking at him with unusual confidence, and Crowley had the gut feeling that if they had been alone, he would have eaten him up, metaphorically speaking.

“They tell me he is a very good shot,” Aziraphale laid it on thick.

(Well, maybe not so metaphorically.)

Crowley took the rifle from Warlock’s hands, never breaking eye contact with Aziraphale.

Lock and his brother exchanged a knowing glance as they both chuckled.

Crowley positioned himself to face the wood-paneled background of the stand, all the targets ready to be shot at. Aziraphale slowly approached him, standing by his side. He was close. Too close.

Crowley aimed the gun at the most challenging target, ready to pull the trigger. The stand retailer was waiting for him to fire with a sly smirk on his face, obviously sure that Crowley would miss just like the kids already had.

Crowley tried to focus on his target, but it wasn’t easy with an angel literally breathing over his shoulder. He could feel Aziraphale’s hot breath tickling his neck. He could smell the scent of his cologne. This situation could become ridiculously embarrassing.

“Keep your left hand steady on the barrel.”

Crowley almost winced when he heard the angel’s voice so close to his ear. He looked sideways, trying to perceive Aziraphale’s profile out of the corner of his eye.

“Trust me,” the angel whispered so that only Crowley could hear him.

This time his breath didn’t tickle, it just made him wish that they were somewhere else, possibly alone, possibly entangled together.

Fuck.

Crowley exhaled slowly. He held his left hand on the gun. Very steady.

He shot. And he hit the target.

All the kids cheered in excitement, and the vendor gaped at Crowley’s success.

“Well done, sir!” he congratulated.

“Ha!” Crowley exclaimed, a noise between a laugh and a scream. He was grinning.

And so was Aziraphale, who looked particularly delicious with his festive red bowtie and that proud smirk on his face.

Crowley assisted Adam and Warlock as they received the coveted prize from the seller.

The Them were so thrilled that they suggested buying some celebratory candy floss.

“Of course! My treat,” Aziraphale took the liberty, looking at Crowley for confirmation.

The children walked away from the two grown-ups, so that an angel and a very smitten demon were left behind to get to the bottom of what had just happened.

“I knew you would come through for them,” Aziraphale galvanized him.

“All I had to do was listen to your advice. You said ‘trust me’.”

“And you did.”

There was no hesitation in the angel’s answer. It was disarming.

“Let me buy you dinner.”

“Oh, I already ate something before leaving the house, actually,” Aziraphale apologised.

“What about dessert?”

The angel’s eyes brightened up, and even if Crowley couldn’t see him well through his dark lenses, he could still distinguish the glint of excitement at the thought of eating something scrumptious.

“What would you say to some crêpes?” Aziraphale suggested. “I saw a stand next to the cotton candy one.”

“Cotton candy?!” Crowley mocked him.

Aziraphale looked disgusted with himself. “Good Lord. One spends a few decades overseas and all of a sudden it’s all ‘cotton candy’ this and ‘soccer’ that.”

Crowley chuckled. “After you, angel.”

As they walked in silence towards the stand where the kids were already queuing to buy their candy floss, Crowley could have sworn he’d felt the ghost of the angel’s fingers lingering close to his own. For a second, he thought he’d imagined it.

But then he heard Aziraphale murmur, “Sorry. I suppose I got used to it.”

At times like these, Crowley hoped that he wasn’t the only one affected by this. And that he could feel the way he was feeling without regretting it. That he needn’t feel ashamed for being in love with an angel who’d fallen from the sky right into his lap.

At times like these, Crowley simply didn’t care anymore.

He promptly grabbed Aziraphale’s hand in his, and his body immediately felt the relief brought by the most perfect manicured fingers entwined with his own.

And this time, Crowley wasn’t imagining the little smile on Aziraphale’s lips. And not even the way the grip of his fingers got tighter by the second. He attempted a glance at his angel, not expecting to see his cheeks so reddened. When Aziraphale looked back at him and squeezed his hand, Crowley felt his heart almost explode. Out of nowhere, Freddie’s words treacherously came back to his mind.

I’d like for you and I to go romancing
Say the word, your wish is my command

🎄🎄🎄

“I really can’t remember the last time I’ve enjoyed being involved in such frivolous activities,” Aziraphale said to Crowley. They were sitting on a bench while the kids enjoyed a ride on a family-friendly rollercoaster.

“I assume you don’t consider sex a frivolous activity, Dr Eastgate?” Crowley flirted.

He’d already eaten his crêpe, which didn’t mean he wasn’t enjoying Aziraphale’s moans as he slowly devoured his.

If only Crowley had magical powers to turn himself into a… dessert, apparently.

“It depends.”

Crowley was pathetically intrigued. “On what?” he asked, never giving up the smirk.

“A very wise man once made me realise that I extremely enjoy it when I’m doing it with the right person.”

Aziraphale had the audacity of saying that without looking at Crowley. He seemed far more interested in licking the chocolate off his crêpe rather. (Yes, Crowley was dying.)

“Sounds like a smart one.”

“Don’t brag, my dear,” Aziraphale admonished him.

They laughed together. And it was so easy and natural to talk like that, to walk and eat together, waiting for the kids to come back. It felt ordinary. Familiar. Homey.

Crowley could already picture a future in which this was his everyday life. A nice life.

And then a sudden dreadful thought came back to haunt him.

He’s leaving tomorrow.

And for the first time since this whole thingy had started, Crowley felt his heart break.

He’d made the awful mistake to get involved, he’d fallen so easily for this gorgeous angel, and now he would suffer the consequences. Aziraphale would never know that he was in love with him (telling him was not an option, it would make it even harder to say goodbye).

Right then, Warlock showed up on his own.

“Hey, Lock. What’s up?” Crowley asked.

“The Them want to take another ride.”

“All right.” Crowley stood up. “You aren’t coming?”

“Er– no,” Lock replied as he took Crowley’s place on the bench.

It took Crowley a couple of minutes to find Adam and the others. He gave them some money to buy another ticket, then he returned to the bench, looking forward to getting back to his angel.

At every step, the voice inside his mind reminded him that this was the last night he spent with him. Was he making it count? Was this enough?

He approached the bench from behind, and he soon realised that Warlock and Aziraphale were deep in conversation.

“I wouldn’t know, growing up in America I never really cared much for football.”

“So, you are not a Chelsea fan?” Warlock made sure, and Crowley silently laughed to himself.

After a moment of silence, Warlock spoke again.

“You know, we were glad to have you around.”

“It was a really nice trip, and you were all very welcoming,” Aziraphale politely thanked the boy.

“No, I mean… at home. It was… uhm, it was the first time that Cro invited a friend at the Manor since Adam and I started living there.”

Crowley felt his heart stop, but he couldn’t find it in himself to interrupt Warlock. First of all, they would have known that he’d been eavesdropping. And second of all, he was far too curious to know where this conversation was going.

“I’m flattered that he considers our friendship special enough to introduce me to you.”

Oh angel, if you only knew how special.

“He’s always been an outsider, you know? Even before mum and dad–”

Warlock stopped talking for a split second, and when Crowley noticed the angel’s hand raising to squeeze the boy’s shoulder he couldn’t cope anymore. He felt tears sting his eyes.

“Well, it’s been worse since then. He’s been alone for so long, and– and I know he truly cares for us, and all, but… Adam and I just want him to be happy.”

Aziraphale was nodding, but he never interrupted Warlock.

“And when you are around… he is happy. For real!”

If Crowley’s eyes (far too wet with silent tears) weren’t betraying him, Aziraphale sighed at that.

“I also want him to be happy, Warlock. Your uncle, he’s– he’s been so kind to me, I really owe him. But don’t tell him I said that, he hates it when I call him kind.”

Crowley would have laughed if the situation hadn’t been so dramatic.

“You can call me Lock if you like, Mr Eastgate,” the boy offered.

“Thank you, dear.” Aziraphale sounded grateful. “But only if you stop calling me Mr Eastgate. You can use my name.”

“How ‘bout Zira?”

Crowley prepared himself for the outburst. During the video call, he’d noticed that the angel hadn’t reproached neither Beez nor Gabriel for calling him ‘Az’. But he was pretty sure that he wouldn’t accept another kind of abbreviation of his name (which was the most wonderful name in the world and didn’t need fucking ‘short fors’ thank you very much).

“Ok. But only you and Adam can call me that, understood?”

Warlock’s smile was the epitome of joy.

(Crowley’s expression, instead, could be featured in the dictionary entry ‘happy tears’.)

When he felt that he’d waited enough, he quickly wiped the tears away and eventually revealed his presence.

“Hey! All good here?” he asked, feigning nonchalance.

“Absolutely tickety-boo,” Aziraphale answered, staring intently at him.

Now that he could see the angel’s eyes, he found them red. Add that to the reappearance of the ‘tickety-boo’ nonsense, and Crowley realised that maybe this wasn’t easy for Aziraphale either.

“Lock, could you wait for them to come down?”

“Of course, Crowley,” the kid agreed, running towards the rollercoaster.

“Angel… would you like a ride on the Ferris wheel?”

“Oh, I’ve always wanted to do that!” Aziraphale replied in excitement.

Crowley giggled at the umpteenth revelation of this man’s silliness. “If I had known, I would have bought a ticket for the London Eye.”

Their laughter soon faded away, turning into a series of languid, stolen glances.

They were both thinking the same thing, neither of them capable of saying it out loud.

In the end, Crowley decided to be the strong one. “Maybe next time.”

🎄🎄🎄

“I’m not taking you there!”

“Oh, please, Mr Crowley!”

The kids were basically begging him to buy tickets for the magic show, The Amazing Mr. Fell. There was a performance every half hour, and the next one was due to start in ten minutes.

“No!”

“Come on, Cro, it’s going to be fun!” Adam implored.

“I don’t like magic,” he replied through gritted teeth.

“You don’t?” an angelic voice asked him.

Crowley gave Aziraphale an amused side-eye, anticipating what was about to come. “You do?”

“Well… let’s just say I am no stranger to the art of prestidigitation.”

“Really?” Crowley asked, this time looking at Aziraphale with a fully entertained smile on his face.

The angel raised his index finger as if asking him to wait, then he took the wallet from his pocket.

“May I?”

Crowley nodded, waving his hands to show his consent. Aziraphale used his credit card to buy tickets for all of them as the kids manifested their happiness with shrieks and cheers.

“You really shouldn’t have. A bunch of spoiled brats, that’s what they are,” Crowley commented, but with the obvious intent to tease and not scold them.

“Come on, it’s fun.”

“So, you like magic.”

“Actually…” Aziraphale blushed a bit as he gave Crowley his own ticket. “I was… kind of a performer myself. Sometimes I did a magic act at birthday parties.”

Crowley couldn’t help it, his lopsided smile turned into a ridiculous grin. Of all the possible things this man could entertain himself with, of course it came down to magic.

He watched as Aziraphale put a hand in his pocket, then he chuckled at his silly marveled expression whilst he moved his hand close to his head and pretended to magically summon a coin from Crowley’s ear.

It was – oh so worth it to see the grin on the angel’s face while he showed the coin to Crowley.

“It was in your hand.”

Aziraphale lost some of his mirth, but he didn’t completely lose his cheerfulness.

“No, it was in your ear.”

“It was in your pocket–”

“It was… close to your ear.”

“Never anywhere near my ear,” Crowley insisted, shaking his head slowly.

“You’re no fun,” Aziraphale complained.

“Fun? It’s demeaning, angel,” Crowley teased him.

They were queuing outside the magician’s tent, now. The kids were chattering excitedly ahead of them.

“You should do a proper act, something dramatic. Like… catching a bullet in your teeth. Or making things disappear.”

Only after saying those words did he realise that Aziraphale was going to perform a dramatic magic act. He would be gone in a few hours.

🎄🎄🎄

The evening was coming to an end. Even if they would never admit it, the kids were tired. The eclectic group of seven people was heading towards the exit of the amusement park. Crowley was walking as slowly as he could, because he didn’t know what to expect from the rest of that night. The only thing he knew was that he wasn’t ready to let go of his angel, yet. And certainly he didn’t want to do it in front of the kids, without a chance for a proper goodbye.

He was so caught up in his thoughts that he almost didn’t notice that they were all gathered at the gates.

“Can you take a picture?” Pepper asked, giving her mobile phone to Crowley.

“Sure, baby,” Crowley teased her.

“Hey!” she yelled. “Don’t call me that! It’s misogynistic and outdated!”

Crowley cast a look at Aziraphale, letting him know that he was taunting Pepper and he loved it. The angel smiled to himself.

Crowley took a picture of all the kids, then Warlock took out his own phone. “Pepper, can you take a picture for us, too?”

The girl agreed and stood in front of Adam and Warlock.

“Cro, Zira, come here!” Warlock called them.

Crowley looked in horror as Aziraphale gaped at the kid with embarrassment.

“Uhm, Lock, I don’t think this… uhm–”

Hesitantly, Aziraphale stared at Crowley. ‘Is this okay?’, he silently asked him.

Crowley answered with facts, not words. He took the angel’s hand in his and he dragged him towards his nephews. They positioned themselves beside the kids and Crowley caught a glimpse of understanding between Aziraphale and Lock.

He had never felt more complete than at that moment.

“Say Spanish inquisition!” Pepper prodded, making the four of them laugh out loud.

Adam and Warlock ran towards their friend to check on the quality of the picture.

“This is so cool! Thanks, Peps!” Adam grinned at his friend.

“Look, Zira!” Lock extended his phone to the angel, and Crowley glanced at the picture himself.

Aziraphale was visibly touched, and Crowley had to swallow his feelings. The photo was so genuine. His nephews were laughing light-heartedly and Pepper had somehow caught the moment Crowley and Aziraphale had been looking at each other while chuckling together.

“Can I… could you send this to me too, Lock?” the angel politely asked.

“Sure! I’ll send it to Cro so that he can send it over to you.”

“Thank you.”

“All right! Can we go to Pepper’s now?” Wensleydale interrupted.

Crowley was still speechless, but he needed to get back to his senses, otherwise he wouldn’t survive the night.

“Ok, we’re leaving in a minute,” Crowley informed the kids.

He put his hand on Aziraphale’s arm, giving him a delicate nudge on the elbow to drag him away from prying ears.

“Listen… nghhh… I’m taking them to Pepper’s for a sleepover, they’ve been planning this all week. Tomorrow they have an all-day-long Stranger Things marathon scheduled.”

“Oh.”

“But it won’t take long, and…I– I… I was thinking… ngk… when I get back… can I–”

Crowley sighed again, why was it so difficult to find the right words?

Angel, can I come over tonight?

Thank Someone, Aziraphale miraculously anticipated his intentions. He leaned over and placed a chaste kiss on his cheek, lingering only a couple of seconds (enough to make Crowley’s heart leap).

“Nightcap back at yours, then?” Crowley boldly asked the angel.

“It’s more your place than mine, anyhow.”

“No, it isn’t. At least, not for another night,” Crowley replied, his hands stroking Aziraphale’s arms.

The angel nodded, blinking rapidly, and Crowley sighed in relief when he saw the hint of a smile on those lips that he’d learned to love so much (and that he’d been terribly missing for the better part of the last six days).

Aziraphale walked away from him and Crowley immediately felt the void left by his absence in his arms.

And fuck, how was he supposed to live like that from now on?

Aziraphale said goodbye to all the kids, indulging in a long embrace with Adam and Warlock.

“It was good to know you, Zira,” said Adam.

“Will you be back soon?” Warlock asked, clearly hopeful.

Aziraphale sighed and summoned the most sadly disillusioned smile Crowley had ever seen.

“I hope so, Lock.”

‘Better than a lie’, Crowley thought.

Then Warlock looked at him, and Crowley probably wasn’t very good at hiding his sorrow, because his nephew clearly realised that there was something wrong with him. He didn’t need to take off his glasses, the kid knew him too well.

They all watched as Aziraphale walked away from their lot, Crowley with his arm on Adam’s shoulders, and then they finally left the park.

Crowley walked in silence behind the kids, letting them lead the conversation on their favorite topics. It didn’t take more than twenty minutes to reach their destination, seeing that Pepper lived close to the area where the traveling amusement park had been installed.

Pepper unceremoniously opened the door, letting all of them inside.

“Mum!” she yelled. “We’re here!”

Pepper’s mother appeared from the kitchen. “Hello, kids!”

A chorus of “Good evening, Mrs Moonchild!” filled the room.

“So, did you annoy Crowley enough for a lifetime?” she asked.

Crowley chuckled. “They were just the usual little brats.”

“Which means you spoiled them with everything they asked for, didn’t you?” she playfully chastised him. Crowley shrugged with a soft smile on his face.

“Thank you, Crowley… I’m sure you spent a fortune on them.”

“You know I don’t care about that, Sally. As long as they have fun.”

“Either way, I really want to repay you.”

“Nonsense,” Crowley insisted. “And… just so you know… you are already doing me a favour tonight.”

All Mrs Moonchild was able to see before Crowley flew out of her house was his candid, expectant smile. He ran away as if the devil was chasing him.

Crowley had conveniently left the Bentley outside Pepper’s house, so that he could go back to the Manor after leaving the kids.

He hadn’t imagined that he would need it to drive through Tadfield at supersonic speed, his main goal joining a lonely angel as soon as he could.

🎄🎄🎄

Aziraphale didn’t have much to pack. That afternoon, he’d spent a good hour putting together his things. He’d carefully folded his trousers, and waistcoats and shirts. He had collected the majority of his toiletries, and he’d also gathered his belongings for the hand luggage.

He was almost ready, and what he hadn’t already put in his suitcase would be picked up the morning after.

He’d smiled when he’d found a place for two new items that would fly home with him.

His mother’s painting had been carefully bubble-wrapped and he’d also made room for Angels & Demons in his carry-on, so that he could have some Crowley to spend time with during the flight.

After packing, Tracy had paid him a surprise visit to say goodbye, informing him that the traveling amusement park had finally opened up. When she had told him that The Them were expecting to go, Aziraphale had very disinterestedly asked if they would be accompanied by their parents. Tracy’s knowing smirk had been worth a thousand words.

And of course he’d gone to the park in hope of finding Adam and Warlock in the company of their uncle. Was it wrong to want to see Crowley again before leaving?

It was his last chance to spend some time with him, and he’d seized it.

And now Aziraphale was back at Bluebell Lodge, a place that he’d called home for the last nine days. The place where he’d first met the most intriguing man he’d ever known.

Also, the place where he would hopefully see him again for one last time.

Don’t think about it. Ignore whatever it is that is gnawing at you from the inside.

You can do it.

Aziraphale reckoned that what he needed was some kind of distraction. So, he rummaged through Beez’ music collection. His eyes fell on the infamous Queen’s Greatest Hits he’d spotted on his first night. He slipped it out of its case to play it on the old stereo.

The 1992 album contained most of Queen’s biggest hits since their first chart appearance in 1974, starting with We Will Rock You as the first track, followed by other popular songs (Aziraphale ignored how dry his mouth had gotten when he’d read the title of the sixteenth track ^[3]).

The first four songs passed by in a blur, with Aziraphale trying to collect his thoughts.

I’m leaving tomorrow.

He couldn’t believe this. Nine days had vanished in the blink of an eye, and now he was considering if he had, in fact, respected his mother’s wish for him. He’d gone back to Tadfield, yes. He’d felt… at home, maybe for the first time in a long while.

And hadn’t he confessed to Crowley that he’d never felt happier before? That being here, with him (well, he hadn’t really said that to him) had made him incredibly happy?

The fifth song of the album started with a well-known intro.

Can… anybody… find me
Somebody to… love

Then it was piano city, and Aziraphale was transported to another place and another time, back to his mother’s house in New York, when he was still learning to play and they used to sing together.

His thoughts were abruptly interrupted by the knock on the door. At this late hour, it could be no one but Crowley.

Aziraphale closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, trying to free his mind from insistent unhappy thoughts.

I’m leaving tomorrow.

“Ok, control yourself,” Aziraphale said to himself as he walked towards the entrance. “You can do this, don’t think about it, tabula rasa.”

Aziraphale opened the front door and Crowley was standing there with his black coat whitened by snowflakes (when did it start snowing?), his crimson hair completely disheveled and, amazingly enough, his sunglasses nowhere to be seen. Crowley gasped, little puffs of air were coming out of his mouth as he obviously struggled to control his breath.

And if Aziraphale ever needed proof of how things had changed for him since he’d met Crowley, this was it. The attraction, the pull that drove him towards this man, the excitement when he was around him, the now welcome craving for his touch, the eagerness to get into bed with him. It was all there.

As amber eyes found blue ones, Aziraphale repeated the last part of his soliloquy.

“Tabula rasa,” he murmured to himself.

Aziraphale didn’t know who moved first (he did), but within the next two seconds their lips were sealed in a searing kiss.

“Fuck, you’re so… hot… when you… speak… Latin,” Crowley confessed between lascivious kisses.

“Then I should inform you–” Aziraphale tried to keep up while he exposed his neck to Crowley’s ministrations. “That I know most of Catullus’ poems by heart.”

“We’ll get back to that later, angel,” Crowley was looking at him as if he wanted to swallow him whole. “But for now, I require your mouth free and at my complete disposal.”

Chapter Text

Crowley felt Aziraphale trembling in his arms. Whether it was out of excitement or fear, he didn’t know. Maybe a combination of both, considering that he was feeling exactly the same. Which was weird. This wasn’t their first time together, and yet to some extent it was.

The voices in Crowley’s head had finally come to an arrangement of some sort because his shoulder demon wasn’t fighting with his angelic adversary anymore. There was one single thought in his mind, shared and approved by both his sides: ‘make love to Aziraphale’.

(Probably for the last time.)

If this really had to be their last encounter, he’d better make it count. He wanted to savour every touch, every moan, every sensation and store the experience in his memory like the bloody ABC. Like something you won’t ever forget.

After a quick nod of agreement on the angel’s part, Crowley took Aziraphale by hand and led him upstairs, eager to get to the bedroom but not wanting to rush things. No, he would take things slow. He already knew that his angel wanted this as much as he did, but they had a whole night at their disposal. One last night.

And Satan helped him, it had to be enough.

Crowley guided Aziraphale towards the bed, pushing him down so that he was sitting on the edge.

“Be back in a second.” His voice was softer than usual, not as hoarse as one would expect from him in such a situation. Aziraphale probably noticed, because his only reply was a quick nod, his eyes dark and intense as he gazed up at him expectantly.

Crowley rushed out of the bedroom, driven by the familiar yearning that he’d necessarily learned to cope with in the last few days. He opened the infamous drawer in Beez’ bathroom to retrieve lube and condoms, and then he returned to the bedroom.

The sight in front of him almost made him faint.

His beloved angel was waiting for him, red bowtie already loosened and two very shaking hands battling with a stubborn button on his waistcoat.

His heart was beating so fast that Crowley feared it would explode. Aziraphale felt his presence, then lifted his gaze to look up at him.

“Help me?” he asked, a question so ridiculous that Crowley couldn’t spare him an amused giggle.

Crowley threw the supplies on the bed, then he kneeled in front of him, staring at him just like Aziraphale had been gazing at Venus and Mars back at the National Gallery, worshipping the masterpiece that was his angel. But before helping him undress (and Crowley really had to refrain himself from ripping off the fucking waistcoat with his teeth), he wanted to make things clear. This night wasn’t about fucking and hasty releases. This was his last chance to make Aziraphale understand what he really meant to him, how precious he was, how perfect.

On their first night, he’d offered a satisfied or refunded policy as a joke, but he’d also promised Aziraphale that he would take care of him.

Crowley didn’t know if he’d really succeeded in making him feel taken care of, loved, cherished. But I’ll be damned if I don’t convince him after tonight.

His hands traveled up to Aziraphale’s face, he gently cupping his rosy cheeks. The angel immediately closed his eyes at the contact.

“Tell me what I can do for you, angel,” he asked, his lips brushing against Aziraphale’s cheek as he spoke. “I’ll do anything for you. Anything you want.”

Crowley felt the other man breathing fast, trying to keep control of a very intimate situation obviously unfamiliar for both of them. He gave him another kiss, this time on the other cheek.

Crowley would have wanted nothing more than to fuck Aziraphale, revelling in the undoubtedly glorious feeling of being inside him.

But this wasn’t what Aziraphale needed tonight, this wasn’t what they needed. Crowley had to show him, make him understand what it meant to belong to someone, so that his angel could find it in his heart that he could love. This was Crowley’s challenge. And also his last chance to succeed.

“Make love to me, angel,” he murmured in his ear, speaking ever so gently.

Aziraphale’s eyes widened.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley went on, pressing sweet kisses on his neck.

“I– I–” he stuttered.

“Please, make love to me.”

Crowley was now sitting next to him, his fingers trailing down to the angel’s belly to unbutton the offending waistcoat.

“I’ve never–”

“Shhh,” Crowley hushed him with an index finger on his lips.

Those blue-green eyes staring at him were so eloquent that he wanted to drown in them forever. Crowley used his thumb to rub those soft lips, and the apprehension he’d seen in the angel’s eyes turned into pure hunger. Aziraphale kissed his finger, chastely at first, but then Crowley made the fatal mistake of looking at his lips as Aziraphale opened his mouth to take his thumb and suck on it.

“Ffffuck,” Crowley gasped, feeling his cock twitch in his trousers.

He closed his eyes, wallowing in the sensation of the angel’s tongue on his finger for a couple of seconds that felt like years.

He moaned. “Tell me again how that dipshit ex of yours told you that you’re not good at the sex thing.”

Aziraphale let go of Crowley’s thumb and completed the task of taking off his waistcoat as a surprising boost of confidence fueled him. Crowley followed his perfect fingers, mesmerized by how beautiful Aziraphale looked.

“He said that I had sex with him only to indulge him,” the angel murmured, yanking Crowley’s stylish scarf over his head to toss it carelessly on the floor.

“Oh, indulge as much as you want with me, angel. My body is at your complete disposal,” Crowley promised, reducing the gap between them as the angel started to undress him. “Every – single – part of it.”

Aziraphale was acting frantically now, and Crowley could already feel the other man’s fingers exploring the skin under his black shirt as the angel took it off.

Crowley returned the favour, proceeding to undo the buttons of Aziraphale’s shirt one by one, as fast as he could. When both shirts found their way to the foot of the bed, the two men were finally free to inspect every inch of each other’s chests. Aziraphale’s hands were so delicate as his fingers found Crowley’s nipples and pinched them. Crowley shivered in pleasure and moaned, evoking an impulsive reaction from the angel who immediately kissed the sound away from his mouth as he continued his ministrations. The kissing was hectic now, the tenderness momentarily forgotten as Crowley parted Aziraphale’s lips with his tongue, reaching the treasure he was so keen to find. Their tongues explored ardently, both men drunk with the taste of each other’s mouth.

“Trousers, dearest.”

Crowley had never felt more aroused in his entire life. He stood up to facilitate things, and if there was ever a circumstance in which he’d regretted wearing his trademark tight jeans, it was at this very moment. He freed himself from the physical barrier as rapidly as he could, his desire to feel his angel’s fingers touching him becoming intolerable.

When he glanced down at him, he noticed that Aziraphale was lying on the bed, struggling to take off his own trousers.

Crowley tried to regain some control over himself. “Let me.”

Aziraphale stopped his movements and watched as Crowley hovered over him. Always the drama queen, he used his teeth to unzip him, never losing eye contact with the other man. Then he slid the beige trousers down Aziraphale’s hips and legs, taking the chance to stroke his thighs for the first time that night. The angel swallowed, and the bulge in his underwear was so huge that Crowley was tempted to take him in his mouth and get this over with.

But tonight, it wasn’t about what he wanted. It was all about Aziraphale.

When the trousers finally melted into a messy puddle on the floor, Crowley settled into the cradle of the angel’s thighs, his gaze focused on the last piece of garment that he wished to remove. As though reading his mind, Aziraphale boldly tugged down his underwear, soon assisted by Crowley.

Crowley leaned forward to capture the angel’s mouth in his again, and as they kissed, he felt the other man’s hands wandering down his body in search of his briefs (seriously, what was he thinking wearing only tight things, tonight?).

After a bit of a struggle, they managed to take them off together, so that Crowley could finally straddle Aziraphale’s thighs, the friction of their cocks so intoxicating that he couldn’t wait another second to put a hand between them.

“Yes.”

A single word spoken in the bliss of the moment by his lover was enough to drive Crowley mad with lust. Once again, he considered the possibility of ending things quickly by showing Aziraphale the marvelous and sensual art of frottage as he jerked their aligned cocks into oblivion, rutting against Aziraphale’s welcoming belly.

But this wasn’t an option. Tonight, Crowley was a man on a mission. So he ran his hands from Aziraphale’s shoulders to his arms and down to his hips. He rested his fingers on the angel’s love handles.

“Crowley, don’t–”

“Don’t you dare even think about it,” he intercepted Aziraphale’s train of thoughts. “You’re so beautiful, Aziraphale.”

To emphasize his words, Crowley cupped the angel’s cheeks in his hands. He looked into the eyes of the man he was in love with as they filled up with unshed tears.

“I look at you and… Ngk.”

Aziraphale giggled through the tears.

“See? I can’t think straight around you. I have no words to express how stunning you are.”

“N– not more than you, my dear.”

“Yes, tell me something I don’t know.”

Aziraphale laughed heartily once again, and Crowley felt an immense sense of fondness when he saw his eyes sparkle with joy, instead.

“I’ve never met a man as clever – and funny – and generous...”

Crowley kissed his cheeks, his mouth, his eyes. “I won’t pressure you, if it’s something you don’t feel comfortable with, but I really want you to…” he grunted, lost for words. “Make love to me,” he asked for the third time.

Finally, Aziraphale agreed. He squeezed his eyes shut, manifesting his eager agreement with a searing kiss that made Crowley moan in relief.

With one sinuous movement, he slithered off Aziraphale, sinking onto the bed as the angel crawled over him. When Crowley’s fingers clutched his forearms, he noticed that he was trembling.

“Are you really okay with this?” he asked one last time, just to be sure that they were on the same page and he wasn’t scaring his angel away.

Aziraphale nodded and kissed him gently. “Will you tell me if I do something wrong? I want to make it good for you.”

And if Crowley hadn’t already been head over heels in love with this man, he probably would have fallen right there and then.

“It’s you. Very good for me, you.”

And just like that, all the previous tension left Aziraphale as he finally took matters into his own hands. He grabbed the bottle of lube and a few seconds later he was pushing a finger into him, causing Crowley’s whole body to shiver.

It had been a while.

Bottoming made him feel too vulnerable, and during his previous sex encounters he’d usually favoured quicker ways of satisfying himself and his partners, regardless of who they were and where they met.

With Aziraphale, it had felt different since day one. In hindsight, Crowley should have realised that he was so enamoured with this man much sooner. He should have known that he wouldn’t resist falling in love with him.

And now, as he crooked a second and a third finger inside him, Aziraphale was annihilating the last defenses that Crowley had built around his heart with so much effort.

“Fuck,” he moaned, his lips finding the angel’s shoulder to bite him. “Angel, you’re killing me.”

Of course Aziraphale’s ministrations would be careful and thoughtful but also–

“Shit! Angel, do it again, please!”

Because he was just a bit of a bastard. His bastard.

With smooth gentle brushes alternating with deeper touches teasing his prostate, Aziraphale brought Crowley dangerously close to the edge, showing that even if he wasn’t all that familiar with what they were doing, he was a fast learner.

“Is this… are you–”

“Yes, for fuck’s sake, angel, just… I need you now,” Crowley gasped as he wrapped his fingers around Aziraphale’s cock to emphasize his request.

“Greedy, are we?”

Crowley chuckled.

“A holier-than-thou situation, isn’t it?” He straightened a bit to catch the other man’s lips in a punishing kiss.

“I’m an angel, I am a great deal holier than thou.”

Crowley giggled. (Crowley never giggled during sex.) He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been (naked) with someone and felt so in tune as to laugh in delight. Another thing he should thank his silly angel for.

“Crowley… would you mind… could we–”

“What? Anything angel, just ask. I’ll give you anything, but it has to be now, because if you don’t shove your cock in my arse within the next five seconds I’m going to explode.”

“Would you… ride me?”

Crowley smirked, unbelievably glad that his angel had finally found his voice.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

Not to mention how secretly thrilled and relieved he was at this unexpected request, because he couldn’t imagine a version of this where he couldn’t kiss and nibble and suck at his angel. He wanted to look him in the eyes, he needed to.

Crowley’s brain shut off when Aziraphale switched position with him, lying back on the bed. It took Crowley several seconds to process what was happening over him, beside him, under him. When he realised that he’d blocked out his surroundings for a while and eventually remembered how the whole speaking business worked, his very intelligent sentence was, “Ngk… ok… mggghhh, yeah.”

Aziraphale was stretching out on the duvet, his white-blonde hair a complete mess, his lips swollen from all the kissing and a condom in his trembling hands.

Crowley took the foil wrapper before Aziraphale could open it. They’d already covered this. Both tested clean after their last partner, both a few months away from their last affair.

He really wanted his angel to get the best possible experience for his first time as a top. (Also, Crowley was a selfish bastard, and he wanted to feel Aziraphale’s cock up his arse without any barrier of sorts.)

Aziraphale nodded, licking his lips and clearly approving this course of action.

“Are you… this is what you want?” the angel asked him.

“Yes. It’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

There you go, you idiot. You said it. You’re being a vulnerable shit, and he’s going to break your heart tomorrow when he gets out of here to jump on that fucking plane.

It was late. It was always too late, anyway.

There was a glimpse of something different in Aziraphale’s eyes. If Crowley didn’t know better, he would say it was more than fondness, more than attraction. Something that had to do with that fucking four-letter word that he’d rarely used in his life.

But before he could analyse it better, the angel’s fingers entwined with his, and he felt his own body moving on its own accord. Crowley positioned himself properly, and he knew he was fucked for the rest of his life the moment he got to look Aziraphale straight in the eye as he slowly sank down onto his cock.

The angel’s eyes shut closed for a second, then his eyelids opened again, and he locked his gaze with Crowley’s, who stared at him for a long time, oddly waiting for some kind of feedback.

“Oh, fuck,” his angel muttered, his cheeks completely flushed.

Crowley let out another chuckle, interrupted only by a decadent, merciful kiss. (Pressing their mouths together felt so good that it should have been declared illegal.)

There you go. I’m doomed. Nothing will ever be the same after this. NOTHING.

Crowley took Aziraphale’s cock as deep as he could, adjusting to the sensation growing inside him, some kind of explosive reaction that made him very aware of the fact that he wouldn’t last long.

When he finally moved, moaning his pleasure inside his lover’s mouth, he grasped Aziraphale’s neck with one hand, trying to balance himself. He suddenly felt the angel’s hands gripping his hips to start directing his movements.

“You feel incredible,” Aziraphale murmured on his lips. “This is– ahhh, you’re so tight, Crowley, so good… this feels so right, I can’t–”

“You’re perfect. Made for me.”

He’d blurted out the first thing in his mind, biting Aziraphale’s lower lip after another quick kiss. Apparently, he had no filter anymore. (But he was seconds away from the best orgasm of his life. Sue him.)

No more words were said as Crowley pressed his forehead to Aziraphale’s shoulder, tightening his grip on the angel’s neck as he rocked over him, nibbling on the sensitive skin of his throat. He tugged one of Aziraphale’s hard nipples with his free hand, wallowing in all the little moans and whimpers of pleasure he could get from him.

Crowley could feel his angel’s hot gasps on the nape of his neck and his fingers nudging him to move faster, to properly ride him. They found their rhythm, which was growing faster and more desperate by the second, and Crowley was lost in sensation, all thoughts disappeared. Tabula rasa, indeed.

When he felt his cock so hard that he would undoubtedly come just like this, he came to the frightening realisation that his life hadn’t been complete until that very moment.

“Crowley, I’m so close,” Aziraphale murmured, his voice so low and warm that it sounded almost ethereal.

“Ffffuck, me too.”

He only had time to hear a ‘yes’ before Aziraphale adjusted the angle in a way that made his cock hit him right where he needed him, making him come with a groan all over the angel’s belly.

He’d been right in assuming that this would be the best orgasm of his life. Pleasure was igniting his whole body so intensely that he started to shake. Aziraphale’s eyes were staring at him as if he were the eighth wonder of the world, or a particularly inviting dessert.

And then Crowley’s lips found the angel’s ones because he needed to hold on to something, or he would certainly pass out.

He felt like a child at Christmas. Having come first would now allow him to enjoy what was bound to happen within a few seconds.

Crowley began murmuring sweet nothings in Aziraphale’s ears, soothing him through his final thrusts as he resumed rolling his hips in response, oversensitivity be damned.

“Look at me, angel,” Crowley begged him.

Aziraphale complied, his blue eyes locking with the other man’s as they widened and darkened and he finally came, grinding his hips into Crowley’s body as he did, gasping his lover’s name as he caught his cry in his mouth.

It was intense, and sticky, and dirty, and awesome and fucking mesmerising.

They were both gasping now, post-coital bliss evident in their messy state, as they tried to catch their breath. Maybe their physical need had been satisfied, but that primal necessity to cling onto each other wasn’t fulfilled. It would never be.

(At least, not for Crowley.)

He took in great gulps of air as he leaned back to look at his angel, who was still recovering from what had just driven him insanely over the edge.

Feeling boneless, Crowley rose on his knees, wincing slightly as Aziraphale’s cock slid out of him. It immediately felt like a loss. He sank back into the bed, searching for the angel’s hand until their fingers were entwined. A second later, he felt Aziraphale’s body laying down beside him. They were both exhausted, hair completely disheveled, hands sticky.

Oh, right.

Crowley rolled over to get some wipes from the bedside table (and he couldn’t help but smirk at the thought that the angel had left them where he’d put them a few nights before, as if he’d hoped that they would find themselves in such a predicament again).

He leaned over Aziraphale, cleaning him up as best as he could, then did the same with himself. He threw the dirty wipes on the floor and risked another glance at the angel beside him. A very satisfied and well-shagged angel.

“Crowley, this was… fuck.”

“I’ve finally found a way to leave you speechless, angel.” Crowley chuckled. “If I’d known, I would have begged you to fuck me sooner.”

But Aziraphale wasn’t as amused as he should have been, his mind clearly set on something else completely.

“Well, this is a cock-up.”

🎄🎄🎄

If Crowley was taken by surprise by the third profanity pronounced by Aziraphale that night, he didn’t show it. Well, maybe he showed it just a tiny bit. The demon was barely restraining the lopsided smile threatening to turn into a smirk (Aziraphale would enjoy kissing it away from his lips).

Having lost the warmth that had pervaded him just a few seconds ago, Aziraphale decided to pull down the duvet and cover them both. Crowley looked at him with such fondness that he almost couldn’t cope.

“Thank you, angel,” he said, caressing his cheek with his fingertips.

Fuck, why do I have to tremble at the slightest contact?

‘Oh great, now I’m swearing even in my mind!’, Aziraphale scolded himself.

In a startling movement, as if he’d just found some kind of backup energy, Crowley sat up.

“Fine, let’s look at this rationally. You must come to London for work sometimes, right?”

“Never,” Aziraphale replied sadly. “Do you often go to New York?”

“Not really. But it’s not that far, you know? It’s like a seven or eight-ish-hour flight, isn’t it?”

“Crowley–”

“Long-distance relationships can work,” Crowley barrelled on, clearly believing what he was saying.

“I haven’t been able to make one work when I lived in the same house as my ex.”

“That’s because he was a pillock.”

Aziraphale sat up too, trying to picture a future where he and Crowley would be together but living on different continents. This was the worst idea ever conceived.

Then he changed the scenario, imagining a future without Crowley in his life. And it felt so awful that he put it aside, at least for the time being.

“Crowley… I can’t see you leaving Adam and Lock to come and… visit me. You could be away for days, even weeks… can you see yourself doing that often?”

Crowley pondered his words for a few seconds, clearly accepting the warning tone and the common sense behind the Aziraphale’s objection.

“Ok, not often… But you’re a professor. You have long breaks between terms, you could travel and… come here, and stay with me… with us.”

Aziraphale started to fret, the pressure of this hypothetical conversation was scaring him. “I have responsibilities, Crowley… exams, conferences, bureaucratic nonsense–”

“The hell with that!” Crowley cupped his cheeks with his hands, and the warmth emanating from him enveloped Aziraphale as a cocoon.

“You don’t like people… you said that you’re not very comfortable around students, that you prefer to do research.”

“Crowley–”

“And money is not an issue for you! Bloody hell, you know it’s not an issue for me either!”

“Cro–”

“If worse comes to worst, you could get tenure here, in London or– or… at Oxford! They would pay good money to launch their own Shakespeare 101 course there!”

This warmed Aziraphale’s heart. He grinned at that. The affection he felt for this silly gorgeous man was killing him, because he liked every single one of Crowley’s facets. And his flippancy was such a huge part of his personality, a huge, adorable part.

The whole flamboyant aspect suddenly disappeared when Crowley got serious and spoke again, struggling with words as he started a weird rambling speech. “Look, I suppose, um… I’ve got something to say. I know we ought to be talking about… It’s probably best if I start off doing all the talking, you do all the listening, ‘cause if I don’t start talking now, I won’t ever start talking, right? Yes, so–”

Aziraphale couldn’t help himself. Noticing that the other man wasn’t getting to the point, he interrupted him. “Hold that thought,” he cut him off, knowing that it was best if he talked first, putting all the cards on the table, so to speak.

Aziraphale sighed.“Okay. Let’s say we tried this. We both commit to doing it. We go back and forth from London to New York for the next few months.”

Crowley started to smile. “See, that’s a fucking great idea!”

Aziraphale all but ignored him. “And then… let’s say that the second term is approaching its end, I can’t constantly get on a plane because I need to prepare lectures and exams… and let’s say that Adam and Warlock don’t like the fact that you are away for long periods of time.”

Crowley’s smile began to fade.

“Then we start to feel the tension, and we both know that this won’t work anymore, only we’re too proud to admit it. Then we start fighting, and after several long-distance calls, we end up breaking up by phone, cursing the day we met each other and a plague on both our houses.”

Crowley looked horrified, but Aziraphale went on with his tirade. “And it’s not like we’re ever going to… bump into each other again, so that will be it. Two very hurt and discombobulated people who would have rather not taken that path.”

For a long awful moment, Crowley gaped at Aziraphale, appalled and upset. He was speechless. But Aziraphale wasn’t done.

“Or…” he continued.

Crowley exhaled such a loud sigh of relief that almost felt comical. He leaned over, cupping Aziraphale’s cheeks with his hands as he kissed him gently. “Thank someone,” he whispered.

Aziraphale felt his heart break as he went on, knowing that he would hurt himself probably even more than Crowley. He stared intently into his amber eyes, feeling Crowley’s gaze fixated on him in return.

“Or… we could realise that what we’ve had these past few days is perfect, and maybe it was perfect because you knew it was just for a few days and deep inside you’ve always known it wouldn’t work. And I’ve been fantasizing about how incredibly perfect you are for me because I can’t ever be with you.”

Crowley retreated, starting to shake his head in denial.

“And maybe, maybe– we feel the need to give us a chance only because we’re feeling good now, but we both know that it won’t always be like this… and maybe the fact that I’m leaving in less than ten hours makes this far more exciting than it might have been otherwise… because if I’ve lived here, you wouldn’t have given me a chance not even in six thousand years–”

“Angel, stop–”

“And maybe this whole long-distance relationship scenario is just a weird figment of your imagination.”

Crowley scoffed. “You’re seriously the most… irritating… infuriating stubborn man I’ve ever met. You’re so clever, how can somebody as clever as you be so stupid?”

Aziraphale felt a bit insulted, but he knew Crowley meant well.

“I have another scenario for you,” Crowley offered.

Aziraphale stuck to a simple nod, waiting for the other man to talk.

Crowley’s tension was suddenly very palpable, his nervousness making him a total wreck.

“Oh God… right, okay. Right.”

His eyes were wide and he kept sighing and groaning to himself as he spoke.

“Right. I didn’t get a chance to say what I was going to say, I think I’d better say it now, okay?”

Aziraphale nodded, a lump in his throat preventing him from saying anything.

“I’m in love with you.”

The life-changing revelation hit Aziraphale like an enormous rock on his head.

“I’m sorry… I know the time isn’t ideal, and the delivery is totally fucked up and not romantic at all, but… as complicated as this whole thing is, I’m in love… with you. And I know we haven’t known each other a long time, you and me… but in the last few days, not really… I mean… I’ve felt like… like I could always rely on you… and you could always rely on me, as if we were a team… a group– a group of the two of us!”

Aziraphale squeezed his eyes, trying to make sense of the words he was hearing. But he couldn’t feel anything at all, only his heart beating faster than it ever had.

“And I would like to spend–”

That sentence was abruptly stopped when Crowley grunted and averted his gaze from Aziraphale, evidently trying to gather some control on his own emotions. Control on the tears that were starting to inevitably spring to his amber eyes.

When he finally resumed talking, his voice wasn’t faltering as before. “I’m not feeling like this because you’re leaving. And I’m not proposing to be together because I feel good now, and I certainly don’t think I will ever stop feeling what I’m feeling right now, because what I know right now is that I love you. And I can’t believe how many fucking times I’m saying this!”

Aziraphale was still too shocked to say something in return.

“And I know that the complete package I promised you that night is a bit different, and it’s more a package deal, three for the price of one… and it’s a whole fucking lot to deal with… but I know what I want… and I think we should be together, just be an us… you and me. What do you say?”

Crowley’s speech finally came to an end.

And so did Aziraphale’s world, in a sense.

He thought about Crowley’s words, which amazingly enough reminded him of the inner conversation he’d been having with himself only the previous day.

How much he’d felt that he could trust Crowley, that he could depend on him, rely on him. The fear at the realisation that this wasn’t a fling anymore, that it never had been. The dread at the thought of going back to New Haven and leaving this wonderful man behind, probably forever.

All the things he would miss: the cottage, London, the Bentley, the town, the kids (good Lord, he would miss them so much), buying groceries at Tracy’s…

A long-distance relationship could never work, Aziraphale was sure of that. The mere thought of being Crowley’s partner and not having him for himself any time he wanted was almost horrifying.

There was only another option: one of them had to move. Crowley had obligations with his nephews; Adam and Lock would always come first, they were the most important factor to take into consideration, their happiness and well-being had to come before anything else. Moving them from Tadfield wasn’t an option.

But then, could Aziraphale leave his whole life in New Haven behind for this? A this that he wasn’t ready to categorise yet, a this that felt truly important but, at the same time, a this that scared him tremendously?

He had a nice life at Yale. Maybe a bit tedious and ordinary, but he was someone. Sure, he didn’t really like being around students, but his colleagues respected him, in their own way. He’d worked so hard to reach that position. And he wasn’t sure he was ready to let it go.

“Well, nghhh–” Crowley brought Aziraphale back to the reality at hand. “You speechless at this moment is not exactly a positive answer.”

“I’m trying to find the right thing to say,” Aziraphale answered as honestly as he could.

Crowley’s expression was so hurt and disillusioned that it physically hurt him.

“I think if the obvious response doesn’t come to you… then, well– ngk.”

“Crowley–”

“No, no, angel. I’m the one who’s made a total arse of himself, here. It’s not your fault. I clearly remember you promising that you wouldn’t fall in love with me, that you can’t fall in love.”

Aziraphale shook his head in disbelief, wondering if and when he’d said those things to Crowley. If he still believed them to be true.

“I guess I hoped I could change your mind.”

Aziraphale’s eyes caught a glimpse of the clock on the wall. He would need to get up and get ready for his Uber in a few hours. He wasn’t going to waste them in hypotheticals.

“Shh,” he murmured as he pulled Crowley closer so that they were lying face to face again.

Aziraphale tried his best to convey a tiny bit of what he was feeling. “I’ve never met a man who talks as much as me.”

Crowley chuckled, and it felt like a Pyrrhic victory.

“I know there’s so much more to say, but just for now, could we just… stay here, together… please?”

Crowley nodded.

They were looking into each other’s eyes, now. And the mere thought of breaking that contact was unimaginable.

Being there in silence, they eventually started to notice the noises around them. The ticking of the clock, a sudden creaking of wood, even the music coming from downstairs (Aziraphale hadn’t turned it off when Crowley had arrived).

They quietly listened to it, and Aziraphale noticed that the CD had kept playing, track after track, and now the fifteenth song Don’t Stop Me Now was fading into the next one.

‘That song be damned’, thought Aziraphale.

What happened in the next few seconds was the last straw as Aziraphale’s rational façade crumbled.

Crowley’s lips parted as he began to sing along with the music, his fingertips gently caressing Aziraphale’s cheeks as he did.

I can dim the lights and sing you songs full of sad things
We can do the tango, just for two
I can serenade and gently play on your heart strings
Be your Valentino, just for you

He wasn’t able to hold back tears. Crowley noticed the wetness on his cheeks, because he stopped singing and planted a soft encouraging kiss on his nose.

Aziraphale had never experienced a more intimate, precious moment in his entire life.

“Yes,” Crowley eventually admitted. “It looks like I sing when I’m in love, too.”

It was a matter of minutes before they both succumbed to sleep.

Chapter Text

December 29th

A white Kia branded with the Uber logo was waiting outside Bluebell Lodge. Its driver was looking at his watch, waiting for the blonde-haired bloke to finally get out of his house so that they could leave.

It was half past nine, and as far as he knew, he had to escort him to Gatwick. He’d already packed his suitcase in the trunk, but the man had gone back inside (to say goodbye to the tall, red-haired man in sunglasses, evidently).

The payment had already gone through, given that the booking had been made online, so the driver wasn’t going to complain if he had to wait a little bit longer.

Still, he was impatiently drumming his fingers on the steering wheel whilst listening to Virgin Radio UK, totally oblivious to the upsetting farewell that was going on inside the cottage.

🎄🎄🎄

Waking up at dawn and getting ready was one of the most difficult things Aziraphale had ever had to endure in his life. Every step, every movement, every little gesture reminded him that he was, in fact, leaving. That he wouldn’t see Crowley’s body stretched out on the bed at impossibly ridiculous angles anymore. No more skinny black jeans on the floor. No more sunglasses discarded carelessly somewhere around the house. No more coffee to comply with Crowley’s morning routine. No more smirks. No more interesting conversations.

No more Crowley.

He was having breakfast in silence, already fully clothed, when Crowley finally showed up in the kitchen. Very few words were exchanged while they drank their tea and coffee. Aziraphale felt his stomach tighten in a knot. Noticing that he wasn’t eating, Crowley asked if he was all right, but all he managed in response was a pathetic, reluctant nod.

Then, the Uber arrived. And they went outside together to load his luggage in the car; Aziraphale felt his soul sink a little bit more with every step back to the cottage.

All he needed now was his carry-on. And then, that would be it.

Crowley closed the front door to guarantee them some privacy, clearly feeling as miserable as Aziraphale, who was wondering if it would be fair to hug him one last time.

To kiss him one last time.

Evidently it was, because Crowley suddenly walked across the room in a haste, the usual sway of his hips distracting Aziraphale from the fact that he was being embraced. One last, desperate hug to say goodbye. Crowley’s fingers were everywhere: on his arms, on his back, on his face, eventually through his hair. All Aziraphale could do was grip at the other man’s tempting hips to keep him close, resting his head on the special place he’d found between Crowley’s neck and shoulder, a part of the other man’s body that felt as if it had been designed especially for him.

Aziraphale wasn’t crying (yet), but he felt so vulnerable that he was afraid he wouldn’t be able to get out of the door.

“Ok… ngk… fuck, this is harder than I thought it would be.” Crowley’s voice was muffled by his hair.

“Please, don’t hate me.” Aziraphale was scared Crowley would resent him so much for leaving that he would eventually give in to hatred.

Crowley nudged him a bit to make Aziraphale lift his head so that he could look at him.

“Never,” he promised, his thumbs caressing his cheeks.

“Ok, so.” Aziraphale sniffed. “We’re not going to make this a tragedy, because we both know you don’t like the gloomy ones.”

Crowley chuckled amidst tears.

“I’m glad we’re on the same page with this.”

“And it’s not like we’re never going to speak or… send each other messages… or– or–”

“We have our arrangement,” Crowley reminded him. “And no set rules.”

“None whatsoever.”

After a nod and a quick exchange of smiles, Crowley was the first to move. His lips were already parted when they locked with Aziraphale’s in a soft, lingering kiss.

What Crowley couldn’t convey with words, he certainly expressed with acts of service. Aziraphale thought about all the little things this wonderful man had done for him in the last ten days. And again, he felt nauseous at the prospect of leaving. But they had already been through this, there weren’t good scenarios to pick from.

When they parted to catch their breath, it was with a broken voice that Crowley said goodbye.

“So… be seeing you, angel.”

Aziraphale shivered as soon as he heard Crowley call him by that pet name he’d instinctively chosen when they had met, even without knowing that it was his mother’s nickname for him.

He tried to speak, but he found out he couldn’t. Words weren’t an option, right then.

And after a final peck on the lips, Crowley let go of him, and immediately Aziraphale sensed the void left by the warm touch of delicate fingers on his face and the taste of soft lips on his mouth.

Aziraphale grabbed the handle of his carry-on and walked across the room, leaving behind the most important thing that had ever happened to him.

It felt atrocious. It felt excruciatingly wrong.

Walking down the driveway to get in the car, he looked at Crowley standing on the door, faking nonchalance. He glanced at him one last time as he waved him goodbye, then the car eventually lifted off.

When the cottage and Crowley were finally out of sight, Aziraphale sighed in despair and leaned his head against the headrest, closing his eyes to squeeze away the tears.

You can do it. You are an expert in this, Aziraphale. You don’t like people; you hate being around people. Get back to that. Rejoice in that kind of feeling.

He tried to remember his life before Tadfield, before Crowley.

Yet, all his mind came up with were images of the last days. Moments spent with the most gorgeous man he’d ever met, and with a bunch of silly kids and with a weird woman who’d opened her house to him for Christmas.

He remembered Tracy’s absurd confidence in the cards, the way she’d announced that she’d foreseen the two of cups, in his future. He wondered what it meant while a weird sad smile appeared on his face.

The radio was on, playing the kind of bebop that Crowley would probably like (and later mock him for describing it as bebop).

The driver looked in the rearview mirror and attempted to start a conversation.

“Have a good holiday, sir?” he asked, politely.

Aziraphale found himself nodding, and it was with no hesitation that he replied, “Yes. The best ever.”

Perhaps he’d sensed his brooding mood, because the driver didn’t speak anymore, opting to turn up the volume of the radio to keep them company.

Aziraphale opened the front pocket of his luggage, wanting to retrieve The Book. His expression turned into the biggest smile when he spotted Angels & Demons.

He opened one random page to read Crowley’s notes, chuckling at his low consideration of Robert Langdon’s misadventures.

The song on the radio faded, and the DJ introduced the next track.

“You like Queen, sir?” the driver asked him as soon as the song began.

Aziraphale, who’d been lost in his thoughts for a while, eventually caught up with the man’s question and cursed to himself as he focused his attention on Mercury’s voice.

(After all, what were the odds of this particular song being broadcast?)

I have spent all my years in believing you
But I just can’t get no relief, Lord
Somebody - somebody
Ooh somebody - somebody
Can anybody find me somebody to love?

“I really do,” he replied as the instrumental intermission guided him towards the second verse.

Listening to a song that reminded him of Crowley wouldn’t do him any good. The driver must have noticed him almost squirming, because he asked, “Are you all right?”

“Yes, sure, right, everything’s tickety-boo.”

Of course he wasn’t all right, how could he be?

He was almost tempted to ask the driver to change the station to avoid listening to Somebody to Love.

But in the end, he didn’t.

Because as soon as he opened his mouth to make this request, Aziraphale was taken aback by the realisation that his mind was fishing out the lyrics from the back of his head. As if his memory was catching up after a very long time. As if his reptilian brain was taking control of his instincts without the interference of his other more refined and rational complexes.

So, his lips weren’t parting to talk. They did so to allow Aziraphale to do something he hadn’t done in four years.

Brian May’s guitar solo was over, and Mercury’s voice was singing again.

Got no feel, I got no rhythm
I just keep losing my beat
I’m OK, I’m alright
I ain’t gonna face no defeat
I just gotta get out of this prison cell
One day I’m gonna be free, Lord!

Aziraphale felt his vocal cords take control as he tentatively emitted the first few sounds to accompany the radio with his own voice. And maybe, the fact that the song had reached its final crescendo was a sign. A good omen.

All the members of the band were singing ‘Find me somebody to love’ in the background. But another voice, a timid voice coming from a very emotional Aziraphale, was joining their chorus.

“Find me somebody to love,” Aziraphale repeated rhythmically, rejoicing in the most cathartic moment of his life.

‘I am singing’, he thought, and it was a revelation.

Good Lord, I am singing!

And the driver was looking at him as if he was a mad man, but he didn’t care, because this was a pivotal moment. He was singing. For the first time since his mother’s death.

His mother, whose words popped into his mind as a thunderclap.

‘You deserve someone who loves you for the awesome human being that you are.’
‘A man that makes you incandescently happy.’
‘Find love, sweetheart. Find somebody to love.’

When the world’s most famous falsetto slide tickled Aziraphale’s ears with the immortal ‘Somebody to – loo-ooo-ve’, he realised that, in those blissful seconds, the singer was sauntering vaguely downwards.

And this reminded him of someone he knew. Someone who sauntered all the time.

Someone who had sauntered his way through Aziraphale’s shell, slithering underneath it to reach for…

Well, his heart, apparently.

When Somebody to Love ended, Aziraphale came to the final epiphany that he was, in fact, in love with Crowley.

I love him.

And I’m the biggest… fucking idiot in this fucking world, and I’ve left him behind!

“Turn around!” he screamed at the driver, who winced at the sudden yelling and almost drove off the road as the wheels slipped dangerously on the icy surface.

“Sir, are you crazy?!”

“I’m sorry, but you have to turn around now, please, I need to go back!” Aziraphale shouted, leaning towards the driver to give some weight to his sudden compelling necessity.

“Forgot something?”

“Yes!” Aziraphale nodded, frantically. “My Haidee!”

The driver didn’t understand the cryptic reference.

And this made Aziraphale even more anxious to get back to Crowley.

Crowley who’d managed to surprise him with his knowledge of the classics just five minutes after he’d met him.

‘Like finding the best way to get even with the conte de Morcerf?’

As the driver turned the car to get back to Bluebell Lodge, Aziraphale rummaged through his luggage in search of another book.

When he found it, he opened it and skimmed through the pages to read the last significant dialogue between the Count and Haidee.

Yes, this part always made Aziraphale cringe with discomfort because the Count’s confession was a real nuisance for his already tormented psyche.

But today, for the first time, he was finally making sense of the next few paragraphs.

So, this was what the Count had found in Haidee.

The hope of a new life (‘wait and hope’), someone who had helped him find joy again. But not only joy, no. A new companion to share experiences with, to help him take a new hold on life, someone with whom he could withstand suffering and pain.

One word from Crowley’s heavenly mouth had enlightened Aziraphale more than twenty years of slow experience. He’d popped up in his life like a gift from– from… someone!

And if he carefully considered their first meeting, Aziraphale was pretty sure that he’d fallen head over heels in love with him as soon as he’d been told, ‘You’re not Beez.’

(Which, incidentally, was the first thing Crowley had ever said to him.)

Aziraphale shut the book with a loud thud, and he watched at the snowy scenery passing by outside.

The car was going too slow, and he couldn’t stand it anymore. “Can you go any faster?”

“This lane is always tricky, and it snowed last night. Don’t worry, just a couple of minutes.”

Aziraphale chuckled when he realised that he would have given anything to be on Crowley’s Bentley, with his companion driving as a mad man to reach his destination in less time than humanly possible.

A couple of minutes. Maybe less.

His mobile phone alerted him with a notification.

It was a message. From Crowley.

He’d just sent him the picture taken by Pepper at the carnival, but there were no words to caption it. Aziraphale didn’t need them, anyway. The picture spoke for itself. And so did the besotted looks on their faces while they stared at each other and laughed at Pepper’s reference to the Spanish inquisition.

Aziraphale felt his head explode with new thoughts and considerations. His mind focused on all the little precious things he’d been so close to leave behind.

The everyday gestures. Those acts of service.

Out of the blue, he was reminded of T. S. Eliot’s The Waste Land.

These fragments I have shored against my ruins

A line that didn’t mean, as many may think, that one should use those fragments to shore up the ruins, to save a building before it collapses.

What the poet probably meant was that one must build those fragments against the ruins, that one must pick up the pieces to rebuild something that may have been destroyed.

And every moment, every second Aziraphale had spent with Crowley felt like a fragment he had shored against his ruins.

“Here we are,” the driver said as the car halted outside Bluebell Lodge.

Aziraphale unceremoniously got out of the vehicle, shutting the door behind him, and running like a mad man towards the cottage.

The Bentley was still there. He was still in time to catch up with Crowley.

If I’d known that singing Somebody to Love in a car was all I needed to get a grip on my life, I would have done it years ago.

But it wouldn’t have worked, back then.

Because what he’d needed all along, was Crowley.

And Aziraphale could only hope that Crowley would still want him.

🎄🎄🎄

Crowley had been crushed before.

When he’d broken up with Ash, he’d felt like his world had come to an end. He was younger and inexperienced, he’d thought he’d known what loving someone meant. Only after many conversations with her had Anathema succeeded in changing his mind about his concept of love.

Of being in love.

Wanting to make your significant other happy.

Performing acts of service to show them that you care, that you’re there for them, even in the littlest things. Especially in the littlest things.

And now here he was, on his own, with wet cheeks (fuck, why do I always have to cry?) and a lump in his throat that wouldn’t leave him for a while.

Falling in love with Aziraphale had been so easy.

Fucking gorgeous angel, fallen from heaven (New Haven, actually) directly into his lap.

He blamed Aziraphale for making him fall like an idiot only to leave him after he’d confessed his undivided love.

I’m in love with you…
I could always rely on you… and you could always rely on me, as if we were a team… a group– a group of the two of us.

Falling in love with a man who’d warned him that he would never reciprocate because he wasn’t cut out for it. What an idiot!

And I would like to spend–

Crowley hadn’t finished that sentence the previous night. Maybe it was for the better.

What would he have said?

That he would like to spend more time with him?

That he hoped he could spend the rest of his fucking life with his angel? To be an us, together?

Crowley got back inside the cottage, closing the front door behind him.

It felt like closing it over the best days of his life, over the hope for a better future.

He’d really meant it, when he’d said that he was willing to travel, to try to make a long-distance relationship work. But the angel had discarded the offer so quickly…

It looks like I sing when I’m in love, too.

Yes, Crowley blamed Aziraphale.

For being the best person he’d ever met. For making him believe in true love again.

True love.

With a sigh, Crowley turned the radio on, knowing that Beez usually kept it tuned on Virgin.

“Fucking Queen!” he yelled when he heard the melody of Somebody to Love.

He fucking played in a Queen tribute band, and if a Queen song was enough to make him think about the angel, how could he move on?! He was doomed!

Aziraphale had been out of his life for less than three minutes and Crowley was already missing him desperately.

‘Please, don’t hate me’

Hate him?! Crowley fucking adored him.

He had to see him. He needed to see his face.

So he took a seat in the kitchen, then he pulled up the photo on his phone. The bloody picture they’d taken yesterday. Without a second thought, he sent it to Aziraphale, as he’d requested.

And that was when Crowley felt a pang in his side, realising that he couldn’t live like this. He had to try to change the angel’s mind.

He opened a browser window on his phone and typed the key words for his research as fast as he could.

flights from london to new haven

The first result was Skyscanner which offered a combination of flights from Gatwick to Orlando and then from there to New Haven.

It would take him almost a day, but it was worth it. He could ask Sally if Adam and Lock could stay at theirs for another day, she would surely understand his visceral necessity to go and rescue an angel.

Oh, so this is what it’s all about. You think you can rescue him?

And why shouldn’t he?

Crowley loved Aziraphale, he fucking did.

Maybe he hadn’t made himself clear enough last night. But then again, he wasn’t the best at expressing his feelings, he wasn’t a fucking lecturer, he wasn’t fucking Cicero!

Perhaps, showing up at Aziraphale’s was what the angel needed to realise that Crowley would go to extraordinary lengths to ensure them a happy ending. To show him that he was indeed ready to travel around the world just to give them a chance to be a fucking us.

Somebody to Love was over, the radio now playing Noel Gallagher’s If I had a gun. One of his solo tracks (one of his best, if Crowley had to be honest).

He’d never really liked Oasis, but well… they were a national pride, nonetheless. Since they’d split up, he’d enjoyed listening to Noel’s works more than Liam’s (that twat, but maybe he was biased, Liam reminded him too much of Ash).

If I had the time
I’d stop the world and make you mine
And every day would stay the same with you

Sure.

Ok, forget what I said. Fuck Noel Gallagher.

Crowley focused back on his phone, trying to summon up the courage to choose a combination of flights.

Turns out, he needn’t.

Someone opened the front door in such a hurry that Crowley startled when he heard the noise coming from the other room.

Someone called his name.

“Crowley?”

Someone made his heart leap.

“Crowley?” the angelic voice called again.

He stood up from the chair he was currently occupying in the kitchen.

It can’t be.

Crowley slowly moved towards the front door, his steps as quiet as he could make them.

The happy expectant look on Aziraphale’s face was more than he could take, and tears streamed down his face whilst fucking Gallagher kept singing.

Excuse me if I spoke too soon
My eyes have always followed you around the room
‘Cause you’re the only god that I will ever need
I’m holding on
And waiting for the moment to find me

Aziraphale finally saw him approach. He didn’t move to close the distance between them, so Crowley didn’t bridge the gap either. For what he knew, Aziraphale might be back only because he’d forgotten something.

Don’t keep your hopes up.

But then, that perfect slightly turned up nose wiggled as the lips under it moved to say, “I was thinking.”

“Uh-oh.”

Aziraphale chuckled.

For Christ’s sake, I thought I’d never hear him laugh again.

“Why would I leave before New Year’s Eve?” He waved his hands in the air to stress out his point. “I mean… that makes no sense at all.”

Crowley only shrugged, not willing to believe his ears. He wiped his eyes with his shirt sleeve.

“I know you didn’t exactly ask me out but–” Aziraphale made a tentative step in Crowley’s direction. “You did say that you’re in love with me…”

Another step. Crowley couldn’t speak. He was silent, just as Aziraphale had been before leaving this same room less than ten minutes earlier.

“Well… I think I’ve got a date. If you’ll still have me.”

Crowley sighed. “I’ve got the gig at New Year’s Eve. And the boys are staying with me…” he blurted out, almost trying to apologise for being such a mess. What had he told him, once? That his sentimental life was disaster-coded?

But then, his angel said the two words Crowley didn’t know he’d been needing to hear, the two most genuine, perfect words ever told by a living soul.

“Sounds perfect.”

That was all it took.

Crowley grinned, giving up to a new stream of tears as soon as his angel rushed to him, raising on his tiptoes as he hugged him for dear life.

If I had a gun
I’d shoot a hole into the sun
And love would burn this city down for you

Gallagher’s song came to a close as two ridiculous men were crying in each other’s arms.

Crowley kissed Aziraphale, his heart shouting for joy for the fact that he was holding the love of his life, and his brain was totally on board with such a definition. It was exhilarating.

Aziraphale’s fingers were all over Crowley’s hair, his scalp, the nape of his neck, his face. He was reveling in the sensation; he didn’t want it to ever end.

“You were listening, too?” the angel gently asked.

“To what?”

“This station.”

Crowley noticed that there was a commercial break. “Oh, uhm… Yeah. Fucking Queen, uh? Made you miss me?” he asked, almost as a joke, but with a veil of smugness palpable in his tone.

Aziraphale seemed more tense, now. He was staring intently at him with a besotted look, so ridiculously smitten. Crowley wondered if that had been his own expression since Aziraphale had arrived in Tadfield. Probably.

“I sang,” the angel stated, naturally, like it was the easiest thing to confess.

“Nghh… Wh– what?”

Aziraphale smiled and caressed his hair.

“Somebody to Love. I listened to it, and… I started singing.”

Crowley shook his head.

What the fuck was his angel trying to tell him, here?

That what he’d been desperately hoping to happen had in fact happened?

That he’d changed his mind?

“It’s the last song I’ve ever sung with my mother. And today when I heard it… it made me think of you. And I sang.”

Un-fucking-believable.

Crowley squeezed his eyes shut, then he virtually pinched himself to check that this wasn’t a dream.

Which was silly because this was, indeed, a dream. A dream come true.

Aziraphale opened his mouth, and a soft, lovely voice came out of it.

“I have spent all my years in believing you, but I just can’t get no relief, Lord…”

He stopped, glancing at Crowley with an inviting frown that left no doubt about what he wanted.

“Somebody,” Crowley proceeded with the chorus.

“Somebody,” Aziraphale sang back.

“Ooh, somebody!” Crowley went full-singer mode, leaning his head back so that he could perform better.

Aziraphale chuckled, but he also sang along. “Somebody.”

“Can anybody find me…”

They were both grinning like idiots.

Crowley took the lead and performed the last “Somebody to – looo-ooo-oooo-ve,” as best as he could. Because his angel deserved it.

Aziraphale hugged him tenderly and put his head in the same spot he’d gotten used to. (Crowley secretly believed that he was born with a neck shaped like that only to allow Aziraphale to lean on it.)

He ruffled his angel’s fluffy hair, talking nonsense in his ears. “I can’t, I just can’t with you… Ridiculous, gorgeous… angel… you can fucking recite Catullus, and then you get here, speechless, singing like a fucking nightingale to tell me that you love me. Un-be-lievable!”

Crowley felt Aziraphale’s body shake with laughter even if he was still hiding his face in the crook of his neck. When he finally shifted position, Aziraphale gazed at him just like he’d done before.

Crowley now recognised this look as the one of a man who was in love.

In love with me.

“Apropos of Latin authors, I reckon we have some unfinished business,” Aziraphale reminded him.

Crowley was already grinning like a little kid who’s just bought the latest issue of his favourite comic book.

“Do we?”

“Yes. I believe your exact words were that I’m hot when I speak Latin.”

Crowley leaned in to kiss his angel’s neck. Just a tease, but he wanted to make it count.

“Mm-hmm,” the angel murmured, closing his eyes (oh, yes, love, let it go), “You said we would get back to it later, though we never got the chance.”

“But now there’s a later,” Crowley whispered; his lips tantalizingly close to Aziraphale’s ear; he was already shivering. The angel looked at him with such fondness and love that Crowley almost couldn’t believe how lucky he was.

“There will always be a later, my dear,” Aziraphale promised as Crowley gently traced his fingertips down his angel’s cheeks.

“But for now, let me indulge you.”

Crowley smirked and listened in awe whilst Aziraphale cleared his voice and started to recite Catullus’ fifth carmen by heart. ^[4]

Vivamus, mea Lesbia, atque amemus,
rumoresque senum severiorum
omnes unius aestimemus assis.
Soles occidere et redire possunt:
nobis cum semel occidit brevis lux,
nox est perpetua una dormienda.
Da mi basia mille, deinde centum,
dein mille altera, dein secunda centum,
deinde usque altera mille, deinde centum,
Dein, cum milia multa fecerimus,
conturbabimus illa, ne sciamus,
aut ne quis malus invidere possit,
cum tantum sciat esse basiorum.

That was… intense.

Shit.

Aziraphale had chosen one of Crowley’s favorite poems (of course, he did). How he’d managed to refrain from kissing his angel as soon as he’d started mentioning “kisses”, he would never know.

But he behaved, waiting for Aziraphale to end before dragging him towards the bedroom.

“Wait, wait, you don’t want the translation?” he asked while Crowley led him upstairs.

“I don’t want to hear it,” he playfully chastised him. “But you can show me, angel.”

They chuckled, in unison.

“You know,” Aziraphale said as they entered the bedroom. “I’m pretty good at multitasking. I could show you…” (he was kissing the skin behind Crowley’s ear, which driving him fucking crazy) “While I… recite it to you?”

Crowley gasped.

“Wh–wh– while?!”

It was the last coherent thing he managed to say before Aziraphale pushed him onto the bed. The angel’s hands worked their way down his body, unexpectedly deft fingers slipping into the waistband of his trousers to unceremoniously tug them down with his pants.

“Ang–”

“Shh,” Aziraphale looked at him hard and Crowley felt his heart beat faster. “Will you let me take care of you, dearest?” the angel asked, bashfully but with a tone that sounded intriguingly sultry. “Will you let me try?”

Aziraphale had a spark in his eyes, he exuded the aura of a little bird that was learning to fly. And Crowley could only hope that the angel would never fold his wings again.

He sighed and nodded in agreement, eager to see where Aziraphale’s newfound inspiration would lead him.

“Good boy,” the angel said.

Crowley gasped in surprise and felt his cock twitch in his pants (for fuck’s sake, was he developing a praise kink?), then he observed in religious silence as Aziraphale bent down and spread his legs as wide as he could with Crowley’s jeans still rolled-up around his calves.

He nipped at his thighs, a flash of teeth sending waves down Crowley’s spine. At the same time, he grasped his already hardening cock with one hand, stroking gently to take the edge off.

“Let us live, my Lesbia, and let us love,” Aziraphale’s breath ghosted over the sensitive skin of Crowley’s inner thighs as he spoke. “And let us judge all the rumors of the old men to be worth just one penny.”

Crowley moaned when Aziraphale’s lips kissed the tip of his cock for the first time.

“The suns are able to fall and rise,” the angel said, stroking his length in slow motions, eliciting waves of pleasure all over Crowley’s body. “When that brief light has fallen for us–”

“Fuck!” Crowley squeezed his eyes shut and moaned when Aziraphale stopped talking to take the tip of his cock in his mouth, twirling his tongue around it and licking the precome out of it.

Aziraphale made the filthiest sound as he slightly pulled back to continue with the poem, “We must sleep… a never ending night.”

Crowley made the huge mistake of opening his eyes to look down where Aziraphale was kneeling. His hand was stroking his balls delicately but firmly, his eyes were of a deep blue and his grin betrayed lewdness and satisfaction at what he was accomplishing. All by himself, with soft hands that had probably never touched another man’s cock like that and a skilled mouth that – Crowley would bet on it – had definitely never done anything like that.

Crowley’s shoulders were heaving as he stared at that beautiful face, he was already at serious risk of coming within the next twenty seconds. Then his brain connected the dots as he remembered the next part of the poem.

(And he realised that he was fucked. Both literally and metaphorically speaking.)

Aziraphale dipped down and took his cock all the way down, squeezing his throat around his length. Crowley felt jolts of electricity that made him shudder all over. It became even worse when Aziraphale recited the next verses as he kept licking, and twirling and squeezing, and swallowing. “G’mme a thousan’ ‘isses, then ‘nother ‘ndred.”

“Angel,” Crowley bit his lower lip as his fingers found their way into Aziraphale’s soft curls, making a mess of his hair. He pulled to find some balance as his world spun around, and he moaned, and he silently cried out, and tears began prickling his eyes. Realising that he didn’t want to hurt Aziraphale, he tried to let go of those soft strands and get a grip on himself, but the angel stopped him, grabbing his hand before Crowley could take it away, inviting him to tighten his hold on his hair. Crowley clenched at it for dear life, and another squeeze of Aziraphale’s inner cheeks around his cock made him sigh desperately.

Out of the blue, Aziraphale slid off him for a split second, opening his mouth to take a breath and move forward with the poem, making Crowley whimper in the absence of his warm mouth around him. The angel gazed at him from his position between his legs, and Crowley couldn’t help but caress his curls as he spoke again, staring at him lovingly.

“Then another thousand,” the angel kissed his thighs. “Then a second hundred,” he licked his shaft, and Crowley moaned and squirmed at the realisation that he was about to come. “Then yet another thousand more, then another hundred.”

Aziraphale stopped talking, taking a mouthful of Crowley’s cock. His head was bobbing frantically now, licking him and sucking on him faster and faster every time Crowley pulled on his curls and made any kind of obscene noise. It didn’t take him long: he gave one last look at the angel’s mouth so full of him at the same time he felt Aziraphale’s fingers clutching onto his thighs, as if asking him to let go.

And that was it.

Crowley’s head fell back as waves of pure pleasure spread from his twitching cock to the rest of his body. He spilled the first drops in Aziraphale’s throat, then the angel removed his mouth but stroked him through his release. Crowley gazed at him the whole time, marvelling at the realisation that Aziraphale was watching in blissful ecstasy as Crowley smeared his fingers. With white warm come. His.

Crowley kept twisting his fingers in the angel’s white curls to steady himself as his orgasm dragged on, wave after wave, after wave.

Aziraphale waited for him to come back to himself before continuing with his ministrations.

“Then, when we have made many thousands,” he said, his voice warm and low, showing the first signs of weariness after what had just transpired between them. “We will mix them all up.”

Crowley almost died when Aziraphale resumed licking, cleaning his oversensitive cock and his own fingers.

“Fuck!” Crowley gasped, wondering how someone so soft and pure like his angel had just turned into the most sinful and tempting devil.

“So that we don’t know,” (another long lick, excruciatingly sweet and torturing.) “And so that no one can be jealous of us when he finds out…”

Crowley looked at him with tears in his eyes, his hands cupping Aziraphale’s cheeks to make him tilt his head back so that he was now looking at him.

“...how many kisses we have shared,” Crowley concluded for him.

Aziraphale beamed at him.

The angel’s hair was a mess, his cheeks red and his lips swollen as he finished licking the rest of his white indiscretion away from them, clicking his tongue as he savoured the taste in his mouth.

“I told you, I can be a sex-enthusiast.”

(Crowley might have felt his cock twitch at that, but he told himself he was probably hallucinating in the aftermath of the best blowjob-poetry-induced orgasm of his life).

They both chuckled as Aziraphale sat beside him on the bed. Crowley leaned in to kiss that gorgeous mouth that still tasted of himself, of sex, of perfection, of trust.

Of love.

The love they were building together.

Because whatever Aziraphale’s intentions were, the two of them would always be together from now on, Crowley was sure of it.

They would face the immediate future as a team.

A group.

A group of the two of us.

🎄🎄🎄

These fragments I have shored against my ruins.

A while later, they were still lying in bed, hands gently caressing each other in slow, tender strokes.

And Aziraphale couldn’t help but think about life, how unpredictable it could be.

There was so much in life, no matter the circumstances. And it was hard, and it could take you down at any point. So, you needed to find these… fragments to hold onto, and they could become like a raft.

You must find them and find a way to hold them close to you. Make them go and get them because those are the things that will keep you afloat.

Getting to Tadfield had taught Aziraphale just that.

And he’d kept his promise to his mother.

‘I wish you could feel as happy as I was when we still lived there.’

‘Find love, sweetheart. Find somebody to love.’

He really had.

And he was incandescently happy.

🎄🎄🎄

Va-voom.

Chapter Text

December 29^th (encore)

December 29^th (a day that would forever live in Crowley’s mind as That Day) was spent in the cottage. Mainly, in the cottage bedroom.

The Catullus-Sex paved the way to Shakespeare-Sex, instigated by Crowley’s performance of Macbeth’s best known Is this a dagger which I see before me monologue, which prompted Aziraphale to beg Crowley to fuck him senseless, with the angel climaxing exactly when Crowley recited the last line ‘That summons thee to heaven or to hell’.

(They were getting really good at the fuck-me-with-poetry thing.)

When they eventually took a break, Aziraphale suddenly (and embarrassingly) realised that he’d completely forgotten about his suitcases. He ran outside in a theatrical and clumsy way, only to find out that both his luggage and carry-on were waiting for him by the door. Crowley declared that he would have paid to see the face of the driver, who’d clearly waited for Aziraphale to get back only to realise that he had, inevitably, changed his mind. Considering the little chat they’d had while returning to the cottage, Aziraphale assumed that the driver had probably inferred that there was no chance for him to get back in that Uber.

After a well-deserved lunch, they spent a cozy afternoon in a soft, gentle, quiet and romantic mood. Mostly, they watched TV and read together.

Aziraphale sat on the sofa with a book in his hand whilst he gently caressed Crowley’s hair with the other. Crowley sprawled on the sofa, his head resting on his angel’s thigh, eyes closed as he revelled in the delicate touch of Aziraphale’s fingers and his soft voice reading to him.

They were settling in a routine that already felt familiar, as if they had been together all their lives.

They also found time to talk (only Someone knew how).

About their expectations, their dreams and hopes for the future. Aziraphale reassured Crowley that he wanted a stable relationship, something real, not a random long-distance affair. He was in this one hundred percent, and even if he hadn’t thought about what to do with his life (yet), what he knew was that he loved Crowley and Tadfield, and he couldn’t picture a future in which these two variables weren’t constants.

Aziraphale would have to go back to New Haven and sort things out, but in the meantime, they could visit each other every few weeks. Maybe Crowley could bring the kids with him during their next school break. Crowley trembled with unexpected affection every time he heard this wonderful man making plans for a future that included his nephews. (The fact that the angel knew how important Adam and Lock were to him only made Crowley love him more.)

So, it was only fair on his part to ask if this (‘this’ being building a life together, as a proper us) was what Aziraphale really wanted, if the angel wouldn’t regret making such life-changing decisions without taking more time to think about it.

Crowley asked more than once. And Aziraphale answered in different ways each time.

Once, he quoted a poem; once, he sang a tune with very meaningful lyrics; once, he simply kissed Crowley to reassure him of his deep feelings for him.

One memorable time, though, he pulled an Austen and told him, “I cannot make speeches, Crowley. If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more.”

Needless to say, this resulted in their third encounter, the Austen-Sex, which took place in the shower to facilitate the cleaning operations.

(Not that Crowley actually needed a shower for that, considering how quick he was to lick every trace of himself from Aziraphale after coming inside him.)

🎄🎄🎄

Beez had mentioned that they would get back to the cottage on their own, seeing that Aziraphale had already booked them an Uber from Gatwick to Tadfield. They tracked Beez’ flight on Flightradar, extremely thrilled when the plane finally landed.

Aziraphale was very eager to meet Beez in person (he really needed to express his gratitude to the wonderful person who’d allowed him to find the love of his life), and he wanted to know everything about their stay in New Haven. In particular, he was dying to find out how Beez had managed to turn his brother into a human being. Gabriel had been mysteriously quiet, after their previous call. Aziraphale had sent him a message to tell him that he’d decided to extend his stay in England, but his brother hadn’t answered yet. And his phone had been turned off for a few hours, by now.

If he hadn’t known better, Aziraphale would have been worried for his well-being.

While they waited for Beez to arrive, Crowley called Warlock and Adam to inform them that Aziraphale had decided to postpone his return to New Haven, but he didn’t mention why.

Even so, it took the kids no more than ten seconds to realise what was really going on (‘this is wicked!’), to congratulate their uncle (‘Cro, Zira is quite the catch, well done’), and to express their total support (‘we’re so happy, can Zira stay with us now?’ ‘will he bring more presents?’).

Then, Lock was taken by a sudden desire to go and visit their grandparents. Adam yelled in the background (‘you can have the house for yourselves!’) and Crowley scolded him loudly in totally-pretend disdain, his cheeks red with embarrassment.

After the call, Crowley was obviously relieved, incredibly grateful for the fact that his two nephews were genuinely happy for them. Even better, they had been rooting for him and Aziraphale to get together all along. His eyes were sparkling with tears of joy when he put down the phone. When they fell, Aziraphale couldn’t help but kiss them away.

🎄🎄🎄

Around 9.30 pm, Beez called Crowley to inform him that they were almost home. Aziraphale looked at his… well, how was he supposed to call him now? Lover? Partner? Boyfriend? They had talked a lot today, but this particular topic hadn’t turned up yet.

Anyway, Aziraphale looked at Crowley, and he immediately sensed that something was bothering him.

“What’s going on?” Aziraphale asked.

“They said that there’s a surprise. For both of us.”

“For us?”

“Mmm– ngk, yeah.”

“A… good surprise?”

“They didn’t say. But–”

“But?”

Crowley shook his head, as if he wanted to shrug off some nonsense. “Nothing, I must be imagining things.”

“Crowley?” Aziraphale urged him.

“I kind of heard someone… talking… in the background. A man.”

Aziraphale faced this news logically. “Maybe it was the driver?”

“I don’t– I think I heard him say something like… Az is gonna love this.”

Aziraphale’ eyes grew wide in astonishment. Why would an Uber driver know his name, and why would he short-name him?

They got their answer thirty seconds later, when Bluebell Lodge opened its door to a very smiling Beez and their even happier plus one.

It almost felt like that moment when a new Doctor gets out of the Tardis with a new companion and you don’t like them, because they’re new, and fresh and you’re not used to them yet. And Aziraphale knew that it would take him a while to like this specific companion, because it was none other than his own brother.

“Hello, brothers!” Gabriel shouted, spreading his arms as if he’d just arrived for the Annunciation.

“Gabriel?!” Aziraphale gasped in shock.

“Aziraphale!” His brother rushed to hug him dearly.

“Beez?” Crowley addressed himself to his sibling.

“Missed me, asshole?”

This put an amused smile on Crowley’s face, and Aziraphale felt grateful that Beez had managed to ease the tension by mocking the Americans.

Crowley hugged them. “I think I like it better when you call me tosser or twat or dipshit, Beez.”

“Ok, douchebag.”

“It’s nice to see that you’ve learned so much in a few days. Are you going to use the new vernacular in your column?” Crowley asked them.

Beez chuckled and gave him a playful pat on his cheek.

“I did miss you, by the way,” Crowley admitted.

“You LIAR!” They laughed. “You were so not missing me while you were boning your boyfriend!”

Aziraphale, who in the meantime had managed to get rid of his own brother’s tentacular arms, felt his face flare up in embarrassment.

“Oi!” Crowley warned them. “He’s not my– I mean– nghhhh, we haven’t really talked about it. Ngk,” he choked on his words (which were now reduced to a string of messy consonants) as if that was the thing that they should be uncomfortable with.

Not the ‘boning’ part, mind you. Sure, let’s focus on the fact that Beez just called Aziraphale his boyfriend.

At least Crowley was not the only one struggling with the correct definition for their relationship status.

Clinging to an inner courage that he didn’t know he possessed, Aziraphale rescued Crowley with a remark he would never have made ten days ago. “I thought that was what you two were doing back at mine.”

Oh, it felt so good to see both Beez and Gabriel blush a bit at that.

Yes, it felt exhilarating, Aziraphale thought. Even more so when Crowley cast a beaming smile at him.

“Anyway… uhm–” Gabriel cleared his throat. “I’m here now.”

“Yes,” Aziraphale said in a solemn tone. “I can see that.”

Crowley tried to stifle his laughter, but he didn’t succeed.

“I asked him to come with me,” Beez finally explained. “He was doing this whole… moping and brooding thing.”

Aziraphale was reminded of his last phone call with his brother. He’d sounded really lost and confused. Almost human. Apparently, Aziraphale wasn’t the only one who’d discovered how feelings worked, in the last ten days.

“So, I told him, ‘Hey, you idiot. Wanna celebrate New Year’s Eve with me in England?’”

Gabriel scoffed. “Well… those weren’t your exact words…”

Aziraphale cringed in horror when he saw Gabriel approach Beez to hold them in his arms. This felt completely surreal. Crowley was probably thinking the same, seeing that he was looking at his sibling in similar horror.

“Yes, I said something along the lines of ‘I want you to fuck my brains out into the new year.’”

Both Crowley and Aziraphale complained loudly.

“Too much information, Beez! Come on!” Crowley barked.

“Where are you staying?” Aziraphale asked, circling back to the more practical issues.

“Here, of course!” Beez answered before Gabriel could. “Don’t worry, Az, you can stay in the guest room if you like.”

“Uhm…”

Clearly, he didn’t feel comfortable at the thought of being under the same roof as Beez and his brother. At all.

“Don’t worry, he has another accommodation,” Crowley interjected.

Beez’ eyes twinkled with mischief. “Of course, he does.”

Aziraphale blushed again, cursing his traitorous body. And yet, how could he not blush when Crowley looked at him like that, with love written all over his face?

“Do I?” he asked, only to be sure.

“Well… your bags are already packed. We’ll just need to check you in at Tadfield Manor,” Crowley said while simultaneously approaching him. Aziraphale gulped, his mouth suddenly dry from his proximity. “I hear that the owner is very… flexible… about opening hours.”

Crowley took his hand in his and gave him a little nudge to pull him closer so that their bodies were almost flush together.

“Well… who am I to argue with that?” Aziraphale whispered.

“Oh, please. Get a room!” Beez mocked them.

“Fuck off, I’m happy!”

And happy they were, entangled in each other’s arms, an us against the world.

“Oh, Az! Rafe came by a couple of days ago!”

The name of his former partner screeched in Aziraphale’s ears as nails on a chalkboard.

“Who’s Rafe again?” Crowley asked, without losing eye contact with him; they were almost swaying on the spot now.

“His ex,” Beez said, and Aziraphale wondered again what it was that they had done during their stay in New Haven. He really should ask; he wanted to catch up. But not now. Now he had Crowley in his arms, and what he really wanted (needed) was to get rid of their clothes as fast as possible and… oh, god, don’t go there, you’ve got an audience.

“Oh, yeah.” Crowley leaned his forehead againstAziraphale’s. “What did he want?”

“Uhm… came to take his things, actually. Man, the look on his face when I told him you were in England!” Gabriel cackled.

“Good. So long, sucker!” Crowley blurted out, his filter probably compromised by his closeness to Aziraphale.

“Quite right, dearest.”

“His loss is my gain.” Crowley kissed him gently, and Aziraphale’s insides melted like the Wicked Witch of the West.

“Ok, I think we should go now,” Aziraphale finally said, leaving the comfort of Crowley’s embrace only to drag him away. He heard the other man’s giggle as he followed, never letting go of his hand. Aziraphale took his suitcase and put Crowley in charge of his carry-on. After a quick tour of the cottage to gather the few belongings he’d left around, they were finally ready to leave.

Beez and Gabriel watched them side by side, and the fact that his brother had found a connection to someone who was visibly making him happy warmed Aziraphale’s heart.

He exchanged a meaningful nod with him. A simple sign of understanding that meant so much. They would talk about this. There was time. All the time in the world.

But right now, they both needed to spend it with their significant other. They deserved it.

As they crossed the threshold, Beez called for Crowley. “Hey, Cro?”

“Yep?”

“Changed the sheets?” they asked, a sly smirk on their face as they chuckled along with Gabriel.

Crowley flipped them goodbye as he and Aziraphale rushed to the Bentley.

🎄🎄🎄

December 30^th

The morning after, Anathema’s parents brought Adam and Lock back home, and the boys were so excited to see Aziraphale that they decided to throw him a party.

Crowley indulged them, considering that he felt at least as psyched at them. It’s not every day that the love of your life decides that you’re worth it and wants to be with you.

Adam and Lock insisted on inviting Beez and Gabriel (‘we want to meet Zira’s brother, he was an actor!’) and the rest of the Them (because of course they would want the other members of the gang around).

Weirdly enough, this didn’t discourage Aziraphale, who looked thrilled at the thought of having a welcome home party for the kids’ pibling.

Especially when Crowley told him that he would need to go out that night. The band had scheduled a rehearsal before their New Year’s Eve gig, and he was supposed to attend, being the lead singer and pianist (what a fucking inconvenience, in this day and age, when he could spend time with his love, instead).

So, after the long (hot) day he’d spent with Aziraphale yesterday, Crowley (reluctantly) left his angel’s side. They parted ways with lingering kisses and promises (‘I’ll wait up for you’ – ‘You’d better, angel’). And even if Crowley was already missing Aziraphale’s presence on the passenger seat (the Bentley had never felt so empty), he left the manor with sparkling eyes and the stupidest grin on his face.

🎄🎄🎄

Rehearsals were long and exhausting. Crowley and his band mates hadn’t played together in a while, so they had to perform every song twice, to make sure they would get everything right as they used to.

During a break, Dagon, the bass player, asked him about his new flame. Apparently, all Tadfield knew about Crowley and Aziraphale being a couple, and Crowley suspected that Tracy had something to do with it. But Ligur, the drummer, informed him that he’d received a phone call from Furfur who had spilled the beans about the ‘repulsively blonde angel’ the day after Pub Night (yes, the evening Crowley had broken his one-night-stand rule to let himself start falling in love with an angel deserved capital letters, just like That Day).

Finally, Crowley asked his guitarist, Alastor, if he knew about Aziraphale, too. The man looked at him hesitantly, revealing that Shax had sent him a picture of the man that had become, and he quoted her words, ‘Crowley’s emotional support angel’.

Crowley could only laugh at that, promising that they would all get to meet said angel at the concert.

🎄🎄🎄

When he got back home, it was to a very messed-up manor. The kids were scattered around the house (Wensleydale and Adam on the sofa, Pepper and Brian in a sleeping bag on the carpet and Warlock on the armchair).

Gabriel and Beez were nowhere to be seen, so Crowley just assumed that they must have gone back to the cottage.

Even if he felt tired as shit, he was craving a very intimate connection to a very soft angel. Aziraphale had promised to stay awake, and the mere thought of finding him somewhere in the house waiting for him was already spurring his fervent imagination.

Crowley went upstairs, knowing that he would probably find him on their bed (and yes, after only one night spent in his bedroom, he was already considering it as theirs).

And on their bed, he was.

Asleep.

Crowley couldn’t blame him. Partly because he knew how hard it was to deal with The Them plus Warlock. They usually sucked up all his vital energies.

Partly because the sight when he set foot in the bedroom left him completely speechless. Aziraphale was resting on a pillow folded onto itself, his head reclined to lay on it. With the dim light coming from the lamp on the bedside table, his hair looked even blonder than usual, with fluffy angelic curls spread on the pillow.

And he still has his bloody reading glasses on.

Crowley smiled to himself. And with his nephews sleeping downstairs in company of their best friends, his sibling doing naughty things at home with their current lover (he still needed to have a long chat with Gabriel, just to see what his intentions were) and the love of his life sprawled on their bed…

Well, he felt complete, for the first time in his whole life.

He took off his shoes, turned off the lamp and lay down beside his angel, taking the book from his hands and the eyeglasses from his face. Aziraphale immediately sensed his presence because he shifted his position to get closer to him.

It was only a matter of minutes before he fell asleep, too.

🎄🎄🎄

December 31st

The Dirty Donkey was crowded. Not only because it was New Year’s Eve but also because the Killer Queens were performing again after a long break.

In a corner not too far from the stage, a few tables had been clustered together to accommodate one of the most heterogeneous groups of people Tadfield had ever seen.

First, there were five kids. (According to The Dirty Donkey's licence, all under-18s were supposed to leave by 8 pm, even if accompanied by adults. But it was New Year's Eve, so they were cutting them some slack.)

The Them (four plus one) had earned their name when Mr R. P. Tyler had caught them stealing apples from his orchard for the umpteenth time. That had been the first time he’d shouted at the little rascals ‘It’s always them!’. Since then, the nickname had stuck.

All people in Tadfield knew Adam (who was recognised as their natural leader) and his friends, and all people in Tadfield loved Adam and his brother Warlock. Protecting them from harm was rule number one for many of the residents. Tonight, Adam and Warlock were here to see their beloved uncle Crowley perform for the first time in many months.

While Pepper, Wensleydale and Brian had been accompanied by their parents, Adam and Warlock were with their pibling Beez, who’d showed up with a very fascinating (and very American) date. Nobody in the pub had ever seen Beez Crowley so radiant, certainly not since their breakup with Hastur, but maybe not even before. And judging from the heart eyes their tall and handsome companion was shooting at them, the man felt at least as enamoured as Beez.

Sitting close to them was one of the most well-known (and beloved) couples of Tadfield: Madame Tracy and her husband Mr. Shadwell.

(No need for introductions, here.)

Sitting across from them were Shax, Furfur and Erik, three patrons of the Donkey who wouldn't have missed their friend’s gig under any circumstances.

And in the furthest corner of the room, sitting at the head of the table, was none other than Tadfield’s most wanted bachelor.

Only, he wasn’t a bachelor anymore.

And judging from the way he was looking at the man beside him, he probably wouldn’t even remain unmarried for much longer.

Next to Anthony J. Crowley sat a man with natural white-blonde curls, piercing blue eyes over a ridiculously cute turned up nose and a happy, provocative smile. A beaming smile, judging from the aura emanating from his whole persona as he looked back at Crowley with such fondness and devotion that, anyone would swear, they were in the presence of the embodiment of True Love.

Most people in Tadfield didn’t know this man (yet), and many men (and women and people in general) inside this pub were glaring at him with concealed envy because who the fuck did he think he was, popping up in Tadfield to steal their chances of ever getting together with Crowley?

Then Crowley stood up with his band mates to go check on their equipment, and as he did, he turned around to look at this man. It didn’t feel like something he ought to do, or needed to. He wanted to, you could tell just looking at his face (even with his sunglasses on).

You could see it in the genuine smile he was addressing to the weird man, because no one had ever seen Anthony J. Crowley smile like that to any of his flames before.

And the fact was, said weird man was smiling back at him with such tenderness and devotion that the only word you could use to call it would be besotted.

Or maybe smitten.

In conclusion, all those men and women and people in the pub could only suck it up, because they were looking love right in the face, and there was nothing they could do about it.

🎄🎄🎄

“Want a refill?” the waiter asked.

“Large Talisker, please,” Crowley answered. “Something for you, angel?”
“A large sherry,” Aziraphale said quickly, too busy talking with Dagon to order himself.

Crowley smiled to himself at the uncommon request (bloody angel), but he didn’t miss the chance to tease him.

“And a sherry for Lady Bracknell.”

All the adults around them sniggered (especially Shax, Furfur and Erik), but Aziraphale ignored them.

“What’s so interesting by the way?” Crowley eventually asked, noticing that Aziraphale’s conversation with Dagon, Ligur and Alastor had dragged on for a while.

“Just talking you up, Crowley,” Ligur made fun of him.

“Fuck off, Ligur!”

The band members laughed.

“Your friends were telling me about your supposedly extraordinary skills at pool, dear,” the angel explained (sounding a little too sarcastic for Crowley’s taste).

“Supposedly?!” he complained. “What the fff– aggggh–” He stopped when he remembered the kids, who were looking at him with hands on their mouths to stifle their laughs. “I’ll show you supposedly!”

Crowley stood up and dragged the angel by the hand towards the pool tables with the other band members in tow.

“What are you doing?” Aziraphale asked.

“Gig starts in half an hour, so we’ve got time for a game.”

“A game?!”

“We’ll play Snooker,” Crowley announced.

And if he hadn’t felt outraged by the angel’s lack of trust in his skills, he would have noticed a smug smirk on the other man’s face. But he didn’t.

“Shad!” he yelled. “Bring your old arse down here, we’re playing Snooker!”

“Finally!” the older man grumbled, jumping from his seat to join Crowley.

“You’re playing against him?”

“Oh, no, angel,” Crowley shook his head. “I’m playing against you. If you get a chance to play, I mean.”

Crowley’s disarming smirk obviously did something to Aziraphale, who gasped in surprise. But he didn’t complain, nor did he refuse to play.

“Shadwell will be our referee,” Crowley said, whilst Shadwell positioned the balls to start the game.

Aziraphale watched in silence as the man set the table.

“What about them?” the angel asked, pointing at Dagon, Ligur and Alastor.

“Moral support.”

“For you?” Aziraphale wondered.

“For you, Mr Eastgate,” Crowley sniggered.

Curiously enough, Aziraphale didn’t protest.

When everything was ready, Crowley extended the cue stick in an elegant and experienced gesture. (And if he bent over the pool table a little too slowly and excruciatingly fluidly just to tease the only angel in the room, well it was nobody’s business.)

“You see, Snooker is different from traditional pool,” Crowley explained, assuming that Aziraphale had never heard about it. He executed the break-off shot to hit the red balls in their starting position. Then he carefully selected one for his next shot.

“Your aim is to alternatingly strike a red ball and a coloured ball into a pocket. That’s called potting. You can strike two reds together, but not two colours.”

“That’s a foul,” Shadwell interjected.

Aziraphale nodded, paying attention to every word.

Crowley made a perfect second shot, potting the red ball he’d chosen into a pocket to score one point. He sauntered to the other side of the pool table where the angel was staring at him with an intrigued expression.

Watch this, angel.

He bent – oh, he bent as down as he could over the fucking green table. And he could feel Aziraphale’s eyes lingering on his back even if he couldn’t see him from that position.

“The colours are worth different points, ask Shadwell how many – if you ever get a chance to try and hit them, of course.”

Dagon, Ligur and Alastor sniggered again.

Crowley shot, and the green ball rolled into another pocket.

“That’s three points,” Shadwell said, and Crowley had never seen him so excited before. The appointed referee took the green ball and returned it to its designated spot on the table.

“That’s how it works until you haven’t cleaned up all the red balls. Now I go for another red one,” Crowley said, striking another red into the pocket with strategic expertise.

Seeing the current position of the cue ball, Crowley nominated the yellow ball as ‘on’.

“It means that’s the ball I’m going to pot,” he told Aziraphale.

In hindsight, Crowley’s mistake was behaving like Icarus. He flew too close to the sun and the beeswax on his wings melted.

Translated, he approached an angel (who had definitely become the sun, to Crowley) and committed the sin of pride.

He was still positioning himself over the table when he felt Aziraphale’s soft voice close to his ear. “I would have thought you’d go for the black one, seven points would do you good.”

A few things happened at once. Crowley turned his head in shock and at the very same moment he struck; then his cue hit the cue ball so hard that it shot off the table, dragging the green ball with it. Finally, Crowley stumbled on the table himself.

“Foul,” Shadwell announced with a snigger.

“What the fuck, Aziraphale!” Crowley whined.

“Oh, shush, dear. Now, I’ll show you supposedly.”

Twelve minutes. That’s how long it took Aziraphale to win the frame. Crowley gaped at him in distress during the most arousing 720 seconds of his life, whilst Aziraphale executed a perfect break, alternating only red balls and blacks (with a very satisfied and smirky Shadwell who promptly replaced them on the table). Once he got rid of the reds, he concentrated on the final sequence of yellow, green, brown, blue, pink and black.

Aziraphale was so smugly proud of himself that he used the chalk on the tip of the cue (shit) as Crowley’s lips parted even more as he realised that he’d never gotten hard for a man striking an object before.

When the angel approached him, rubbing the stick he still held in his hands, he couldn’t cope anymore.

“You fuckin’ – tease!”

“Close your mouth Crowley, we are not a codfish.”

“Did you just– fuck, did you Mary Poppinsed me?”

“Consider this a life lesson, darling.”

“I’ll show you life lessons, you–”

For the second time that night, a demon dragged an angel away from a table. But this time it was to rush towards a private room where only staff members (and performers, of course) were authorized to enter.

Crowley slammed Aziraphale against the door, or better, he used Aziraphale to slam the door closed. Then he managed to lock it while he kissed him senseless.

Good job, Crowley, nice multitasking skills. Supposedly.

“That was the fucking– hottest– thing I’ve ever seen, angel.”

Aziraphale moaned when Crowley took one of his earlobes between his lips.

“Where did you learn to play like that?”

“Turns out–” a moan “Yale has–” a groan “one of the most important–” a whimper “Snooker clubs on the East Coast. And I am the President.”

“You naughty angel,” Crowley teased him, one of his hands already stroking the growing bulge in Aziraphale’s trousers. “Liar,” he hissed in his ear.

“Not a liar. You didn’t ask.”

Crowley chuckled delightedly against his lips. “Yeah, I was just showing off.”

Aziraphale’s hands traveled down and grasped his hips as Crowley kept stroking his cock. The angel tilted his head back as he closed his eyes and gasped.

“You showed off your diabolical hips just fine, darling.”

Twice.

(That’s the number of times Aziraphale had called him darling in less than two minutes.)

Aziraphale’s blue-green eyes were piercing right through his soul. “Should we expect someone to come in?”

Fuck.

“N–no.”

“Good.”

It was Aziraphale’s last word. He pulled at Crowley’s trousers and tugged them down to free his cock from his pants, then he did the same with his.

Mind you, Crowley was no virgin and he’d most certainly had his fair share of quickies and filthy affairs in the past, but nothing felt as lascivious and exciting as what Aziraphale was doing. Maybe because it was Aziraphale doing it. To him.

The angel had fire in his eyes as he took both their cocks in his hand, rubbing and stroking them fast and hard, just the way Crowley liked it.

The fact that Aziraphale had learnt what drove Crowley crazy in less than two weeks, even more so in the last three days, was maddening. (And extremely exciting.)

“I’ve never done it like this,” Aziraphale whispered in his ear as his fingers kept working them both. “In a public place, I mean.”

Crowley groaned, his body thrusting upward in the angel’s fist.

“Should we make this quick?” Aziraphale asked so innocently that Crowley wanted to bite the words from his lips.

“I’m expected on stage in ten minutes.”

“Help me then, you lazy fiend.”

Crowley did not need to be asked twice. As he placed one hand against the door beside the angel’s head, he wrapped the other one over Aziraphale’s, joining him in a frenzy handjob that pushed them over the brink in mere minutes. Their kisses were hot and wet as they licked each other’s teeth and lips, and Crowley was losing his goddamned mind.

“I want you to fuck my mouth,” he gasped. “Angel, please.”

It was too late. Aziraphale was coming, and his blissful moan was already inducing Crowley’s own climax.

“Fuck, I love you. I love you–” He bit the angel’s lips, sucking the obscene noise directly from his mouth.

Crowley was still hard, his cock throbbing in both their hands. Nonetheless, he gasped and shivered even more when Aziraphale stared at him, still panting, and said, “I’m sorry, there was no time to fill your gorgeous mouth, darling. But you can have an appetizer.”

Aziraphale raised the hand he’d wrapped around them.

Now, Crowley was getting accustomed to Aziraphale’s increasing lewdness since he’d found out how much he loved having sex with him (bloody lustful hedonistic angel) and how unexpectedly (and deliciously) kinky he could get. But there’s only so much a man can take when he has a celestial being saying such filthy things and putting his come-covered hand right under his nose.

“Oh, fuck,” Crowley swore as he started licking the angel’s fingers, and his palm, and the back of his hand clean. At the same time, Aziraphale took Crowley’s cock with his other hand, and Crowley came in a flash of yellow dots, nibbling and sucking the angel’s fingers in his mouth as he revelled in the blissful sensation of Aziraphale’s salty taste on his tongue.

Then heaven became hot as hell when Crowley finally stopped twitching in Aziraphale’s hand and the angel began licking his other hand, making filthy noises as he devoured Crowley’s come as if he were licking a particularly tasteful ice-cream.

When Crowley stopped shivering, he leaned his forehead against Aziraphale’s as they both descended from their peak, their breaths mingling until they became more regular.

Aziraphale inhaled deeply and put Crowley’s softening cock back in his pants – oh, so delicately. He closed the zipper and plunged his tongue in Crowley’s mouth for one last searing kiss.

“I need to stop calling you angel. An angel does not behave like that.”

“I know.” Aziraphale pecked his lips again. “I’m a bit of a bastard.”

Crowley giggled. “You’re a fucking menace! HOW am I supposed to go on stage and sing after what you just did to me?”

Aziraphale gave him his bitchiest look. “Keeping in mind that we have the manor to ourselves later. And that this will happen again.”

“And again?” Crowley suggested.

“And again.”

Aziraphale tucked himself back in his pants as well while Crowley kissed his soft curls.

“Angel, that was the most mind blowing semi-public sex of my life.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed it as much as I did,” Aziraphale said as he unlocked the door. “It was a first for me. Was it good?”

“It was fucking perfect.”

Aziraphale blushed (for fuck’s sake) and beamed at him. “Thank you, darling.”

Crowley shivered again at the pet name.

“I love it when you call me that,” he confessed.

“Wait until I call you that while I use my stick for potting into you.” (A beat) “Darling.”

And just like that, the angel was gone, probably heading to the restrooms.

Crowley rushed towards the sink to wash his face, trying to give himself some sort of respectability and a look that did not scream ‘My angel just fed me with angelic spunk in the backroom’.

And I’m supposed to be the tempter.

🎄🎄🎄

Later in the evening, the kids were playing foosball in the adjacent playroom and the concert was almost over. Aziraphale had watched the show from a safe distance. Not because he didn’t want to be closer to the stage, screaming his unconditional love for the cutest lead singer a tribute band had ever had, but because he still didn’t have enough self-confidence to dive into the dense, sweating crowd of strangers.
Moreover, he was not certain that he would keep his hands to himself and not jump on Crowley at the first opportunity. (And thank Someone for the human body’s refractory period.)

Crowley was a stage animal, he was so good, both at singing and playing the piano. Maybe his timbre wasn’t that similar to Mercury’s, but it sounded scratchy and hoarse just enough to make Aziraphale melt.

Tracy came to sit with him, a Piña Colada in her hands. The band was having a cooling break between songs, and Aziraphale was following the little drops of water falling from Crowley’s mouth, tracing a very seductive path down his throat and–

And then Crowley (free of his sunglasses, by now) looked straight at him, and somehow, he made Aziraphale shiver in expectation, even from afar. Aziraphale didn’t miss the smug chuckle that escaped from that wicked mouth.

“All right,” Crowley said on the microphone. “I know it’s almost 11.30 and we need to get the fuck off, because you guys want to snog someone at midnight.”

The crowd laughed out loud.

“Me too, by the way,” Crowley revealed. “So, we’ll play this one and we’ll get back on stage after bloody midnight.”

The crowd in the pub cheered and clapped.

“Just need to do something, first,” Crowley continued, adjusting himself on the stool in front of the keyboard. “I want to dedicate this song… uhm– to my own… very special lover boy.”

Many people in the pub howled, and Aziraphale’s heart skipped a beat.

“Well, if you met him, you already know that he’s old-fashioned. So old-fashioned, actually, that he might belong in a museum.”

Cackles. Of course.

“What you don’t know, though… is that he is also good,” Crowley said, and this time his voice took on a low, serious tone. “I mean, properly good. So good that I was in the middle before I knew that I had begun."

“Oh!” Aziraphale gasped even if Crowley couldn’t hear him. But he could see his burning cheeks, his watery eyes and the ridiculously smitten smile on his face, given that he was staring at him with the softest smile on his face.

“Oh, fuck, I’m tearing up, here. So, ngk… This is for you, angel, sing along. After all, we both know what you’re doing tonight, eh?”

Crowley began to play, still surrounded by laughter, but Aziraphale didn’t hear any of that.

The beginning of the song brought him back to the most romantic moment of his life when Crowley had sung that very same intro after declaring his love.

‘Yes. It looks like I sing when I’m in love, too.’

Did it seriously take me ten days to realise how much in love with him I am?

“Two of cups,” a soft voice beside him stirred him from his reverie.

“What?” Aziraphale asked, still walking on air.

“I told you, luv. Your future. Two of cups. Cards never lie,” Tracy stated, smugly.

“And what does it mean?” Aziraphale asked for the second time, still unaware of the significance of those cards.

Tracy smiled back at him. “Your answer is up there, luv.”

Aziraphale’s focus shifted on Crowley. This wonderful, marvelous, incredibly perfect human being who had welcomed him into his town, his home, his life.

His heart.

Aziraphale chuckled to himself.

‘You’re being ridiculous, angel’, Crowley would say.

Yes, ridiculously happy.

Especially when he started to sing along, making sure that Crowley noticed his lips moving. The grin on his face during the guitar solo spoke for itself.

🎄🎄🎄

Aziraphale didn’t know if heaven existed.

But here on earth, in this pub, Adam and Lock were running towards him all excited for their sparklers (provided by Pepper’s mum), Gabriel and Beez were already snogging their way into the new year (just as they’d planned), Tracy and Shadwell were uncharacteristically sitting hand in hand, and a three-headed-beast composed of Shax, Furfur and Erik was cheering in front of the stage.

And his own lover boy, his personal demon, the love of his life, well… he was singing for him, apparently (‘Dining at the Ritz, we'll meet at nine, precisely, I will pay the bill, you taste the wine’).

No, Aziraphale didn’t know if heaven existed.

But here in this pub, tonight, he was finding all the proof he needed that maybe it did.

Chapter Text

Going back to New Haven after the blissful Christmas spent in England was the hardest thing Aziraphale had ever to do. Surprisingly, it was at least as hard for his brother Gabriel (well, maybe not so surprisingly).

The Eastgate brothers were escorted to Gatwick by the Crowley siblings on a very gloomy 6^th of January. Tears streamed (mostly down Gabriel’s face), hands were shaken (in a very eccentric and unexpected crossover) and hearts broke a little bit (everyone’s). But both couples knew that this was for the best.

It’s never easy to blend two different lives into one. And considering that Aziraphale and Crowley were taking their commitment very seriously, they were both conscious of the fact that Aziraphale had many things to deal with, starting with his job at Yale. Simply put, his return to the States had never been in question (not as much as the length of their farewell at the gate).

“I’m going to miss you,” Crowley said, his forehead glued to Aziraphale’s. “So… fucking… much.”

“I’ll be back in two shakes of a lamb’s tail, darling.”

Aziraphale would never forget his love’s soft chuckle at the uncommon phrase.

“Ooooh, you’re so ridiculous.” Crowley kissed him. “How’s this ever going to work? I can’t live four weeks without you, who’s gonna make me laugh?”

“Look at yourself in a mirror if you wanna laugh, bro,” Beez interrupted them.

Aziraphale laughed a little too hard, so much so that he was immediately chastised with a pinch by his partner.

When the two men finally said goodbye, their hands were still intertwined.

“Love you, angel.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

Aziraphale said this deliberately, echoing Crowley’s smug tone the night after the carnival. He clearly hit the mark, because Crowley gaped at him, the memory of the situation in which he’d said that to Aziraphale still fresh enough to make him blush.

“Let’s go, Gabriel.” Aziraphale dragged his brother away from Beez. He was still crying in a rather theatrical way, and Aziraphale couldn’t help but roll his eyes.

They had almost made it to the gate when Aziraphale looked back at Crowley (rookie mistake).

His hands were back in his pockets (where else?) and even if his posture was adjusted to express confidence, it was pretty obvious to Aziraphale that Crowley was withholding his true feelings. Certainly, to prevent him from worrying more than necessary. And that was the moment when Aziraphale couldn’t hide his feelings anymore.

Oh, bugger!

He let go of his carry-on to walk as fast as he could, meeting Crowley halfway (apparently, he’d had the same idea and was already closing the distance between them).

They kissed.

And they kissed some more.

And they hugged for a couple of minutes, both allowing their previously concealed feelings to show freely.

“I love you,” Aziraphale said. “I don’t know if I can function properly without you anymore.”

“You’re strong, Professor Eastgate. You’re the toughest angel slash Snooker player I’ve ever met,” Crowley said, lips close to his ears, making Aziraphale giggle between the tears. “You’ll function fine enough.”

“I’d rather be selfish and stay,” he admitted.

Delicate long fingers cupped his face, and Aziraphale put his own hands over Crowley’s.

“And I’d let you, if I didn’t know that this is necessary, angel. You need to go back, only for a while. It’s gonna be great. You get to be your pompous previous self, the one who hates his students and colleagues. And then, when the night comes, you can call me. And I’ll always be there for you.”

“When night comes in New Haven, you’ll be asleep in Tadfield,” Aziraphale teased him.

“Obviously.” They both chuckled. “We’ll keep in touch, angel. Every day, we’ll get closer. And every day our love will be a little stronger.”

“Hey!” Beez complained, not far from them. “That’s our song! Stick with bloody Queen, will you?”

Ignoring their remark, a very touched Aziraphale looked at Crowley.

“You’re insufferable.”

“Why?”

Aziraphale kissed him. “You always have to go and mention one of my mother’s favorite songs.”

“What can I say? I have good taste, I’m perfect like that.”

“You most certainly are, my dear.”

🎄🎄🎄

Aziraphale had already considered resigning That Day (yes, just like Crowley, he loved referring to That Day with capital letters). When he got back to campus on the first day of the second term, his resolution only got stronger.

As much as he’d enjoyed working at Yale since he’d gotten tenure, being there didn’t feel right anymore. If he’d learnt something from his holiday in Tadfield, it was that everyone deserves happiness. It was just a matter of balancing the scales.

On one end of the scale were his job, his life in Connecticut, his house, his loneliness.

On the other end were Tadfield, his new friends, Adam and Warlock, the little trips to London (better while sitting in a vintage car).

When he placed Crowley on the scale, the metaphorical plate crashed downward. This second side was clearly the right side.

(Our side.)

Aziraphale submitted his letter of resignation at the end of January (incidentally, the day before Crowley’s first visit). Needless to say, he was so excited that they spent most of his stay at home.

He put his house on sale two weeks later and his realtor informed him that she’d found a buyer around the beginning of March. They closed the deal at the end of the month and made arrangements to move (in and out, respectively) by the end of that summer.

After a short weekend in Tadfield in March, Aziraphale welcomed Crowley, Adam and Warlock at Easter. They visited New York together (the boys were psyched) and they parted ways knowing that Aziraphale would start packing by the end of April.

This came out to be the easiest part, because Aziraphale realised very soon that most of his personal belongings were books.

With Gabriel’s help, he stocked dozens of boxes filled with volumes. When his brother noticed that most of them were first and rare editions, Aziraphale had another epiphany.

“I don’t remember, dear, but… is there a bookshop in Tadfield?” he asked Crowley during one of their video calls.

“Nope,” he answered with a yawn.

“Oh, dear, I’m so sorry, it’s already midnight there, isn’t it?”

“Don’t worry, angel. I really like hearing your voice when I’m in bed. Helps me fall asleep.”

Aziraphale’s soft smile went unnoticed, but only because Crowley was talking with his eyes closed.

“Anyway, there was a tiny bookshop a few years ago, but it burnt down.”

Aziraphale gasped. “No!”

“Mm-hmm. ‘t was horrible. For a moment, one of the owners thought that his partner had been involved in the fire. Poor sod was desperate, kept screaming that he’d lost his best friend.”

“Good Lord,” Aziraphale could empathize, both with the horrifying prospect of his beloved books burning and the thought of losing his best friend (who also happened to be his boyfriend).

“Turned out, his partner had been stuck at the registrar’s office all morning for some bureaucratic nonsense. They got a very consistent insurance payment, and they both got an early retirement.”

“I don’t know if I should be more bothered by the tragedy or pleased by the happy ending.”

Crowley yawned again. “Why were you asking, angel?”

“I was thinking about opening a bookshop.”

This tickled Crowley’s attention. He opened his eyes to look at him.

“Nothing pretentious. Something personal, a small place where I can exhibit my collection.”

Crowley smirked. “We both know you’re never going to sell one of your precious books, angel.”

Aziraphale agreed. “Well, maybe I could make an exception for my annotated copy of Angels & Demons.”

“I’m told it’s priceless. Invaluable. Definitely not for sale,” Crowley hissed back at him.

Aziraphale chuckled. “I could also restore ancient books, you know, I’m pretty good at that.”

Crowley smiled tenderly. “You’re the best at restoring things, angel.”

The double meaning of that sentence made Aziraphale crave Crowley’s physical presence even more.

‘Soon’, he thought.

“So, what do you think?” he asked instead.

“It’s the greatest idea you’ve ever had.”

🎄🎄🎄

Aziraphale moved in with Crowley and the kids by the end of June. The boys were insufferably thrilled about the new resident of Tadfield Manor, especially because they already knew that Aziraphale would spoil them rotten. And they weren’t wrong.

The former professor took the part of the affectionate “uncle” a tiny bit more seriously than he should have, but he couldn’t help it: he loved Crowley, clearly, but in the last few months he’d created a special bond with the kids, too. Adam and Lock went to Aziraphale for school advice, and he was also the one they went to when they wanted to go out for ice-cream without reason (which that summer happened daily). The Them involved him in their adventures through the woods and when they binge watched a new series.

And at night, when Crowley found Aziraphale surrounded by sleepy kids on their sofa, he felt that his life couldn’t be more perfect.

🎄🎄🎄

Beez left Bluebell Lodge to move in with Gabriel in New York.

It was a big change, but Crowley had never seen his sibling more convinced of something in their life. And he’d never seen them happier.

Gabriel was a wanker, sure, and he still got on Aziraphale’s nerves from time to time. But he also turned out to be an unexpectedly perfect counterpart to Beez’ snarky exuberance. They’d found each other, and they both loved New York.

When Beez applied for a position at the New York Post, they immediately got the job (they were a handful, but they were also very good at what they did). Gabriel’s flat in New York was a huge penthouse in the City, though, so Beez decided to keep the cottage in Tadfield, if only to have a cozy house to go back to when they wanted to visit their brothers. Aziraphale had secretly been relieved by that news because he was too attached to Bluebell Lodge. It was the reason he’d met Crowley, and it was the place he’d fallen in love with him.

🎄🎄🎄

The day of the bookshop opening, people in town were enthusiastic and sympathetic. It was a huge success, with everyone wanting to congratulate Aziraphale over A. Z. FELL & Co.

Aziraphale had acquired a lovely space at the corner of an old building, and he’d chosen a weird combination of crimson (mostly for the façade) and yellow (particularly for the inside) that created a warm and welcoming ambience.

At some point (but he would never say this out loud), Crowley had realised that those colors had a little something to do with the colour of his hair and eyes. But he didn’t want to embarrass his angel, so he kept this secret to himself, adding this umpteenth good deed to the (very) long list of things his angel did to make him a little bit happier every day.

🎄🎄🎄

The next good deed, though, was performed by Crowley himself.

They spent that whole summer talking about the lack of organized recreational activities for young children in Tadfield. Aziraphale took this matter to heart, promising Adam and Lock that he would create a town committee to solve the issue.

Speaking with Crowley one night, he explained that he wanted to find a place to open a community center where children could play, take lessons, socialise and have fun. Volunteers would schedule courses, and maybe they could even build playrooms for the youngsters and playgrounds for the infants. Teachers would offer after-school programs. The vastness of Aziraphale’s project almost shocked Crowley.

But they did need a place, and that was when Crowley put his mind to work and performed a little miracle of his own.

“I called Nina yesterday,” he informed the angel one day.

“Why?”

Aziraphale had met Nina. He knew she was one of Crowley’s oldest acquaintances,that she worked as a realtor and that she was still trying to sell his mother’s house.

“Well… you’ve been blabbering about it for weeks, and I couldn’t stand it anymore, watching you rack your brains like that!”

“Darling.” Aziraphale looked at him with a vaguely scolding expression. “I need you to slow down and explain your thoughts before you go off on a tangent. I thought we already talked this through.”

Crowley couldn’t help but smirk at that.

“You said you need a place for the kids, something big and possibly surrounded by nature.”

“That I said, yes,” Aziraphale agreed.

“So, I called Nina.”

Aziraphale waved his hand to ask him to elaborate.

“I said we wanted to make an offer on Meadow View.”

The silence after this revelation was almost deafening. Crowley saw a whole range of emotions passing on the other man’s face. From disbelief to astonishment, from consternation to exhilaration. And then the final one, Crowley’s favorite: a look of extreme fondness that erupted into the greatest smile. He lived for those smiles.

“Crowley… are we buying my mother’s house?”

“Well, ngk, er… I wanted to buy it for you anyway, you know? I mean, before you came up with this community center idea, I wanted you to have it, well I wanted us to have it… or, at least, uhm… well, it’s gonna be ours, soon.”

“Ours?”

“Yes. Ours. Yours. To do whatever you want with it.”

Aziraphale was speechless.

“I thought… it’s a place, isn’t it?”

Aziraphale smiled again, and Crowley blushed. Almost eight months he’d known this angel and he still managed to make him feel like a schoolgirl in front of her crush.

“A happy place,” Crowley pointed out, knowing how his angel felt about that house. Knowing how he felt about it, since that was the place he’d realised he was in love for the first time.

“The happiest, my dear.” Aziraphale took Crowley’s hand in his and held it tight.

After a few moments of silence to pull himself together, the angel spoke. “All right. If we get Meadow View–”

“When, angel. It’s a matter of days, you know?” Crowley pointed a finger against his chest.

“Ok.” Aziraphale giggled (Crowley wanted to bottle that sound so he could listen to it for the rest of his days). “And if it’s really mine to… do what I want with it… I’ll give it away.”

“Yes?” Crowley asked, feeling emotional already.

“Yes. You had a wonderful idea, darling. We’ll use it for the Community Center.”

Crowley would gladly give away an arm to see his angel’s eyes sparkle like that all the time.

“It’s gonna be great, angel. And now that we have a place, you can finally choose a name, too.”

“Oh, but I picked that as soon as I started planning, dear.”

“Did you, now?” That was one thing he didn’t know.

“Of course! It’s going to be named Anathema Device and Newton Pulsifer Youth Community Center.”

Crowley gaped at him.

What the– fuck?!?!

I just finished wondering how it is that this man still makes me blush like an idiot, and now he goes and just– fuck!

Crowley’s silence probably scared Aziraphale because he immediately asked, “Wh– what, you don’t like it, darling? I thought it would be nice for Adam and Lock, you know–”

“Shhh.” Crowley hushed him with a tender kiss, and their lips tasted like salt, because he was crying, and he couldn’t care less to hide his vulnerability.

(Nothing new to Aziraphale, who’d seen him cry in every possible circumstance, even with his cock up Crowley’s arse.)

“You blessed, gorgeous angel,” he murmured. “God bless your mother who turned you into the most wonderful man that ever existed.”

“I don’t know about that… I heard that Mahatma Gandhi did some pretty nice things.”

Crowley chuckled. “I fucking adore you, you know that?”

“Yes,” Aziraphale prolonged the ‘e’. “I had a hunch that you probably did.”

🎄🎄🎄

And so the renewal of one of Tadfield’s oldest residences began. And with Aziraphale’s family funds (which were, fortunately, more than adequate) it didn’t take long.

By the end of the following February, Adam and Warlock were cutting the ribbon of the Anathema Device and Newton Pulsifer Youth Community Center, with a very emotional uncle Cro at their left and a beaming Zira at their right, like an angel and a demon on their shoulders.

During the press conference, Crowley said that the whole project had been carried out in memory of the late Mrs Elizabeth Bolton, and Aziraphale squeezed his hand to pass some of his pride and love down to him. Crowley actually felt it.

It looked like Aziraphale had found a new purpose in life. The man who’d hated being around people, the same professor who’d snubbed students and colleagues because he wasn’t good around strangers, now spent most of his morning scheduling activities for kids.

Alongside sport courses for the oldest (fencing, football and basketball were the first activities to be introduced), the angel organised piano lessons (Crowley had made sure to get Aziraphale’s old piano tuned), after-school activities (teachers of the public school almost competed to volunteer in the afternoons), cooking classes (Tracy and Sally were in charge of those), book clubs (that was Aziraphale’s time to shine), botany lessons (guess who was teaching yelling-to-your-plants techniques to grow them better?).

Aziraphale planned all sorts of activities to satisfy the needs of children and parents, of any age and background.

And Crowley couldn’t have been prouder of him.

For the being in love part, though, there was always space for improvement.

🎄🎄🎄

One year and four months later - April

They say that bluebells bloom from late March to May, so April is the best month to see them. Or at least, that’s what Crowley knew.

Aziraphale hadn’t been around much last spring, so he’d lost his mother’s favorite flower blooming season in Tadfield. But he was here, now. He had been here for a while.

Today was a very special Saturday.

It was Aziraphale’s 44^th birthday, and Crowley had prepared everything they needed for a surprise picnic. A basket was already waiting for them in the Bentley when they (finally) made it downstairs after a prolonged (steamy) session in their bed (and then their shower). Adam and Lock had been out gallivanting with the other Them since breakfast, so the two adults were enjoying some well-deserved us time (like they usually called those – oh, so coveted moments when they were alone without the little brats around them).

It was one of those wonderful first days of spring when you begin to sense that it’s starting to get warmer.

After a short drive, they spread a blanket on their favourite spot in the field of bluebells that surrounded Meadow View. They ate sandwiches and salad, and Aziraphale’s favourite chocolate cheesecake as dessert. Well, that was mostly Aziraphale’s prerogative, because Crowley spent all the time watching (read: listening to) him eat.

Aziraphale then read Truckers for a while, seeing that he’d promised Warlock that he would choose it for the next meeting of the book club.

Much to Crowley’s satisfaction, though, the angel soon stopped reading to focus on him with the soft touch of his fingers (he never held back when asked to pet Crowley’s red locks).

“It’s not fair, Aziraphale. It’s your birthday, not mine. I should be the one spoiling you.”

“You already arranged all of this, Crowley,” the angel replied, not tired of caressing his boyfriend’s head. “This was a wonderful gift, thank you darling.”

Who said this was my only gift?

They sat together like that for a while, talking about everything and nothing, until the last tv shows they’d watched became the main topic of their conversation.

“You know it’s true!”

“It’s not.”

“Yes, it is!” Crowley sat up, wanting to look Aziraphale in the eye as he complained about this. He loved seeing him all riled up. “When we get out here, bluebells make you think of season two, and we both know very well why you watched that show.”

Aziraphale turned his head to hide his smile. He was obviously stifling a laugh. “It’s a crime drama, you know I like the genre.”

“It’s written by Chris Chibnall, and the lead is your beloved Ten!” he pointed out. “That’s the only reason you’ve watched it.”

Aziraphale gaped at him pretending to be shocked and offended, then he closed his mouth. “Well. It’s one of the main reasons I’ve watched it.”

Crowley grinned, happy to know he’d won the argument. He loved teasing Aziraphale about this, knowing too well how uncanny the resemblance between him and the angel’s favourite actor was.

Apparently, Aziraphale wasn’t ready to let this go. “And you, dear, made me watch all the seasons of that silly sitcom with the two crazy actors who keep snarling at each other!”

“What’s your point?” Crowley asked in all seriousness.

“You like it because you’re totally infatuated with the cantankerous one, the– the one with the crazy hair and beard!”

Crowley was outraged. “The other lead in that series is Ten, angel!” he yelled, still unable to stop grinning. “You wanted to watch that show!”

“You asked me to grow a beard because you said I would look good–”

“And you do!”

“Because you wanted me to look more like him!” the angel snapped, a sly smirk on his face.

Crowley burst out laughing at that. Of course, he was right, but he wouldn’t give Aziraphale the satisfaction to hear him admit this out loud. Besides, the angel did look good with a beard.

He’d never looked sexier, actually. Crowley had been struggling to get out of bed every single morning, since the beard had fully grown.

“All right,” Crowley conceded. “Let’s just call it even, I know you’ll always fancy him more than me.”

“Can’t blame me for having a type.” Aziraphale caressed Crowley’s face and he leaned into his touch.

“But he’s no ginger.”

“Yeah, he wishes.” Aziraphale closed the distance between them, and they kissed. Crowley revelled in the sensation of his partner’s soft beard against his chin and cheeks. It still felt new and exciting, and it made him want to jump him right there.

He smiled at him, instead, and they went quiet for a while.

Aziraphale was looking around, smelling the delicate perfume in the air. He usually said that staying in their spot on that field helped him feel connected to his mother, and Crowley loved it when his angel remembered her with that adorable smile on his lips. It was precious.

Sitting in silence like that, Crowley could hear the faintest noises surrounding them, like the stream flowing nearby, the birds chirping, the wind blowing, even the church bells ringing in the distance.

Out of the blue, he was reminded of a song.

And he sang it. Because he couldn’t help himself: he always sang. (Especially when he felt completely, incandescently happy.)

There were bells on a hill
But I never heard them ringing
No, I never heard them at all
‘Til there was you

Aziraphale recognised the tune and looked at Crowley with huge grey-blue eyes that were just as striking as the colour of the sky, that perfect afternoon. Crowley smiled as his fingers found the angel’s whilst he kept singing.

There were birds in the sky
But I never saw them winging
No, I never saw them at all
‘Til there was you

🎄🎄🎄

Aziraphale couldn’t believe his ears. It wasn’t the first time Crowley obliviously sang one of his mother’s favourite songs. It probably wouldn’t be the last.

“Oh, yes, Paul McCartney knew what he was doing when he recorded this one.”
They were listening to With the Beatles, and the sixth track always made Aziraphale’s mother smile.
“He didn’t write it, mother.”
“I know, but he made it special.”
Aziraphale chuckled.
“When you get married, you must dedicate this song to your soulmate.”
“Why?” Aziraphale scoffed.
“Because it’s a love ballad, it exudes love… transcendentally!”
Twenty-two-year-old Aziraphale didn’t always agree with his mother. He chuckled at her silly excitement over an old Beatles song. “If you say so, mother.”
“Once you find love, you’ll get it.” She giggled. “I promise, angel.”

Aziraphale came back from his trip down memory lane to amber eyes staring at him in confusion.

“Where were you?” Crowley asked, his voice a mere whisper.

“My mother loved that song. Have I ever mentioned that to you?”

Crowley smiled. “No, but it’s not the first time that your mother and I agree about music.”

“It really isn’t,” Aziraphale noted, once again overwhelmed by how Crowley perfectly complemented him.

“She thought that this was a nice song for a wedding.”

Until then, Aziraphale had felt Crowley’s fingers playing with his. The movement suddenly stopped.

“You know, to dedicate… to your soulmate. She was silly like that, at times.”

Crowley sighed and took his hands away from Aziraphale’s. He was averting his gaze, as if he’d just set his mind onto a very different task.

“It’s funny you should say that, angel. Because that’s exactly what I’m trying to do.”

“What?”

“Asking you to marry me.”

Crowley was looking at him again, now. And a ring had just materialised in his hand.

🎄🎄🎄

See, angel, I can do tricks, too.

And what a joy to see Aziraphale Eastgate, former Yale professor of English literature, speechless and dumbfounded.

The angel took the ring in his hand, marveling in its beauty. It was a platinum band, an exquisite Cartier with a customized engraving. A pair of angel wings.

“Oh, Crowley… it’s wonderful.”

“Look at the inscription.”

Aziraphale inspected the ring to read the inner engraving, which consisted of only one word: ‘ineffable’.

“Y– you often say that– that us being together feels so right and good that it’s almost ineffable. And I think you’re right, angel. The love I feel for you really is ineffable because I’m incapable of expressing it with words. It’s too great, it’s extreme. It’s so fucking perfect that it makes me fly.”

Aziraphale was crying now, but then so was Crowley.

“But I intend to show you how much I love you with my actions, every single day, for the rest of our lives.” Crowley sighed deeply. “Will you marry me, angel?”

Aziraphale was sobbing, but his eyes betrayed his enormous happiness. After a few agonising seconds of silence (which didn’t terrorize Crowley at all), he let the ring slide on his finger as he said to him, “I would not deny you; but, by this good day, I yield upon great persuasion; and partly to save your life, for I was told you were in a consumption.”

Oh, you little…

So typical of you, angel, to have a perfect Shakespeare quote for every – fucking – occasion.

Crowley grinned back at his gorgeous angel. “Peace!” he continued. “I will stop your mouth.”

And he kissed him.

🎄🎄🎄

They stood up together, tears of joy mixing with laughter while they hugged in the middle of the meadow as the two idiots in love that they were.

One idiot was thinking about his ring, about the fact that he wanted to give Crowley one that was at least as sublime as the fine piece of jewelry he’d chosen for him. Thinking about how happy he was. Thinking about how perfect his life had turned out to be.

The second idiot was thinking that he was the luckiest bastard in the whole world. He still didn’t know what good he’d done to deserve an angel in his life. But here he was. Singing.

There was love all around
But I never heard it singing
No, I never heard it at all
‘Til there was you

🎄🎄🎄

It was Aziraphale’s turn to sing, as they slowly swayed together on the blanket.

And those lyrics were perfect, as if someone had written them to convey his own feelings.

Aziraphale hadn’t known love before; he’d never heard it. Not until he’d met his soulmate. His mother had been right all along. Crowley had taught him to sing again. And now, he would never stop singing.

‘Til there was you

🎄🎄🎄

Crowley kissed Aziraphale’s hand while he sang the last line of the song.

The hand with his ring.

And his angel beamed at him, the happiest Crowley had ever seen him. Which made Crowley the happiest he’d ever been.

That’s how you know that an angel and a demon are in love.

Chapter Text

“An Inter FC uniform of Lautaro Martinez.”

“Check.”

“Minecraft for Nintendo Switch.”

“Check.”

“The Mandalorian Helmet Lego set.”

“Check. And look if Pedro Pascal is included, angel.”

“Crowley! I’m right here!”

Crowley chuckled. Aziraphale ignored his lame attempt at making him jealous of a celebrity (even a pretty, uhm… charming one like that certain Pedro Pascal – of whom Aziraphale knew absolutely nothing about, by the way).

“A cat.” Aziraphale’s reading glasses slid down the curve of his nose as he re-read the last word with astonishment. “A cat?!”

It looked as if Warlock had written this word with a different pen, probably a last minute addition to his list. Aziraphale stared at Crowley with curiosity, taken off guard when he realised that his surprised reaction wasn’t mirrored in his.

That night the kids were at Pepper’s for a sleepover and the two of them had just relocated downstairs, dressed only in their bathrobes after a most steamy shower (yes, in both senses). They had been checking Adam and Warlock’s Christmas Wishlists for the last ten minutes, drinking a 1982 Château Pétrus as they sat on the carpeted floor in front of the fireplace.

Compared to the previous items, gift number nine on Warlock’s list was a little too alive to be wrapped into a Christmas present.

“Lock is still pissed that we got Dog for Adam’s birthday.”

“We didn’t get Dog, Crowley, it’s Dog that got us,” Aziraphale corrected him.

“I know, angel.” Crowley kissed his knuckles, lips touching Aziraphale’s wedding ring like his husband did whenever his mouth aimed for his left hand.

Dog was a mixed-bred pup that had showed up one day while the kids were playing outside Meadow View. Just once had Adam whistled at him, but since then the animal had never left his side. After a visit to the vet to assess the dog’s state of health, Crowley and Aziraphale had decided to adopt the little rascal and welcome him into the family. And if you ignored the silly name Adam had chosen for his pet (‘saves a lot of trouble a name like that’, he’d explained), you couldn’t help but notice that they had immediately become inseparable.

“Lock always wanted a cat. I think he resents us a bit for letting Adam have his pet.”

“I never particularly liked cats,” Aziraphale confessed.

Crowley squeezed his eyes at him. “Really? I’ve always been more of a cat person.”

“Sure you are. You’re insufferable and very independent, and you purr when I scratch your ears.”

Crowley smirked. “I purr when you scratch my everything.”

Aziraphale chuckled.

“Tracy told me that R. P. Tyler was looking for families willing to adopt because his cat just had kittens.”

“I don’t know, darling… Do we really want another pet so soon? Cr–”

Oh, right. Aziraphale had just called him ‘darling’, hence the temporary 404 File Not Found screen error flashing in his husband’s skull.

“Crowley,” he softly called after a little while.

“Nghhh… wh– what?”

Aziraphale smiled. “I was saying that I’m not sure we should get a cat.”

“Just because you don’t like them doesn't mean we don’t have to get one for Lock.”

“Maybe next year?”

Crowley squeezed his eyes shut again and argued. “Would you like it if I didn’t get you something from your wishlist?”

Aziraphale looked at him naughtily. “You most certainly wouldn’t.”

“Exactly.” Crowley rubbed his fingers with his. “So maybe we could go visit Mr Tyler with the kids tomorrow?”

Aziraphale smirked. “I love the sound of that.”

“The sound of what?” Crowley asked, a bit confused.

Aziraphale took off his reading glasses and threw them on the sofa. “Tomorrow.”

He used the belt tied around Crowley’s waist to pull him in, using his fingers to untie the knot. Slowly.

“I love it when the kids are having fun with their friends… elsewhere.” Aziraphale slid his fingers underneath the robe to reveal Crowley’s naked chest. He lowered his gaze, and he noticed that the mere touch of his hands was already triggering a most desirable effect.

“Precious moments when it’s just us and we can – do – this.”

With a smug smirk, Azirahale pushed the robe off Crowley’s shoulders, leaving him completely in the nude as he began tracing a path of very wet open-mouth kisses on his collarbone.

“D–do what, angel?” Crowley asked, feigning indifference as he swallowed hard.

“Oh, anything, darling.” Aziraphale sneaked a hand between their bodies as he kept kissing his neck. “I really want to get a headstart on that wishlist of mine.”

Crowley’s cock twitched between his fingers, hardening in response.

“I’m going to give you anything you wish for, angel,” Crowley promised.

“Anything?” Aziraphale asked very innocently.

“Anything, just keep– fuck, keep doing whatever it is that you are about to do.”

Aziraphale chuckled. “The first item on my wishlist would be… this.” He took Crowley’s nipple in his teeth as his fingers toyed with the other.

“Fuck.” Crowley moaned. “Are you sure that’s not my list?”

“Maybe we share one item or two. But we both know my list is naughtier than yours, even if you’re the alleged demon.”

“Oh, is that so?” Crowley groaned.

Out of the blue, he opened Aziraphale’s robe to undress him, throwing it away as he left him naked as well. He nudged him delicately so that his back was now lying on the carpeted floor, the warmth coming from the nearby fireplace surrounding them and tickling his face.

“You’re so beautiful, angel,” Crowley whispered fervently. “Look how gorgeous you are.”

“You’re so nice, darling,” Aziraphale teased him.

Crowley nibbled at Aziraphale’s cheek. “Don’t you dare! I’m devilish and scary!”

“Said Mr I-want-a-kitten so I’ll pretend it’s for my nephew.”

Crowley pinched his hip. “Take that back, or–”

Aziraphale giggled gleefully. “Or?”

Crowley smiled. “Ok, let’s make a deal, angel. I’m going to draw from that wishlist of mine, putting my so-called demonic skills to work. I’m going to do unspeakable things to you within the next ten minutes or so–”

“Ten?!” Aziraphale complained dramatically. (He wasn’t sure if ten minutes was enough for the kind of unhingedness he should expect from ‘unspeakable things’.)

“But I demand that you guess how those things rank from one to ten on my wishlist, and I want you to tell me while I do them.”

Aziraphale had a hunch, so he asked spitefully, “Oh, no. This isn’t about one of those silly top ten videos on Trick Trock, is it?”

Crowley snorted. “TikTok, Aziraphale, it’s TikTok, for heaven’s sake. Oh! I can't believe I just said that.”

Aziraphale smiled at his silliness. “Well, whatever it is, it sounds promising,” he said, stroking the sensitive skin of Crowley’s inner thighs.

“Oh it will be for sure, angel. But if you rank only one of those things wrong, we go get ourselves a cat tomorrow.”

Aziraphale was abruptly taken back from his arousal-induced bliss. “What?!”

“You heard me. Take it or leave it.”

Sure of himself (and mostly of how well he knew Crowley’s favourite sexual acts), Aziraphale accepted. “I’ll take it then,” he teased, turning so that he was now lying on his stomach.

“Good merciful fucking someone, I think I just came,” Crowley groaned. “In my mind,” he added when Aziraphale scowled at him over his shoulder.

Aziraphale felt a thrill of excitement slide down his spine. “You want to fuck me like this?”

“It depends.” Crowley stroked the small of his back, sending shivers all over his body. “You think it’s on my wishlist?”

Crowley tickled his arsehole with his index finger.

“Yes!” Aziraphale cried.

“How’s it ranked on the list?”

Aziraphale chuckled. “You said I should call them while you perform the act.”

“Oh right.” Crowley giggled. “Just a heads up, angel, it’s going to take a while. You came down my throat merely half an hour ago.”

Fuck, Aziraphale loved it when Crowley talked dirty.

“Will you be… a good boy?” he asked, knowing the effect praise had on Crowley. “Give me everything you’ve got?”

Crowley bent over and murmured in his ear. “I’ll make it so that you won’t be able to walk tomorrow.”

“What if I lose and we have to visit R. P. Tyler tomorrow?”

“It’ll be your walk of shame,” he said, fingers ghosting tantalisingly between Aziraphale’s thighs. “On your back, angel.”

Aziraphale indulged him and rolled over offering himself to Crowley, who immediately took one of his nipples in his mouth as he pinched the other between his fingers. Aziraphale closed his eyes, wallowing in the duplicity of that wonderful sensation as he grabbed Crowley’s hips.

“Tell me how it feels?” Crowley teased him.

“Exquisite.” (Crowley bit his nipple as Aziraphale squeezed his demonic hips even tighter.) “What do you think, angel? How did ‘nipple play’ rank?” (Crowley’s nail scratched his other nipple and Aziraphale startled, intoxicated by such torturing pleasure). “Is it second? Or eighth?”

“F– Fifth!” Aziraphale blurted out, flinching when Crowley pinched him again.

Crowley laughed, then his mouth and hand let go of his nipples as he focused on his mouth to kiss him. Soft at first, but after a few exploratory pecks, the heat intensified rapidly. The kiss became a wet, messy affair. It was hungry, it was hot, it was everything. (Like every kiss they shared, to be honest. And If the little sounds in Crowley’s throat were any indication, he was enjoying this just as much as Aziraphale.)

“So?” Crowley breathed out with a broken voice as their lips parted (and like the cat he totally wasn’t, Crowley tucked his nose against his jaw, rubbing his nose through Aziraphale’s beard).

Aziraphale smiled as he felt Crowley grow hot and hard against his thigh (Crowley was enjoying this as much as him).

He grasped his husband’s cock in his fingers, having mercy on him as he gave Crowley a few tentative strokes.

“Easy seventh.”

“Easy seventh,” Crowley mocked him. “How about this.”

Crowley slithered down his body and bit his love handles. (Twice per side.)

“Ah!” Aziraphale moaned. “Uhm… ninth?”

Crowley ignored his answer and crawled up his body, and this time he nibbled at his earlobe, and good lord it felt so – fucking – good.

“Please, Crowley–”

“Tell me,” he demanded, as his mouth kept licking and biting at the sensitive skin behind and inside his ears.

“I don’t know–” (another bite) “Tenth!”

He heard Crowley laugh as he unceremoniously took both their cocks in hand, rubbing them together. For a few seconds, all Aziraphale could hear were Crowley’s grunts and moans as he rocked into his own fist, chasing his own pleasure as much as his. Aziraphale’s trembling fingers traced the drops of sweat on Crowley’s forehead as he kept rubbing and squeezing and pumping them together. When he looked down, he saw that his hand was already wet with their precome. It looked obscene, and his first thought was to clean it away with his tongue. But that thought was swept away when Crowley twisted his hand just so, making Aziraphale gasp in ecstasy.

“H–how’s it ranked, angel?” Crowley asked, his voice a whimpering mess.

“Good Lord, if I hadn’t fucked your slutty mouth half an hour ago, I’d have already come by now.”

“Told you so,” Crowley squeezed their cocks a little harder, crying out in pleasure. “The rank, angel.”

“Eighth!”

Crowley let go of them at once, and Aziraphale groaned in disappointment. He’d been so close to–

“Always up for a good spot of frottage, me. But let’s–”

Crowley took him in his mouth, and the first touch of his devilish tongue on his tip felt heavenly.

“Yes.” Aziraphale moaned. “Let me fuck that mouth of yours. Take it. You’re such a– fuck– a good boy,” he whispered, hands sinking in Crowley’s hair as he sucked him beautifully, head bobbing up and down as he took his cock so well and his fingers massaged his balls.

“I’m close, Crowley, please let me come–”

“Nu-uh!”

Crowley suddenly let go of his cock, leaving Aziraphale heaving and craving for his release. But fuck, Crowley’s lips looked so swollen and beautiful, still wet and spit-slick and–

“Where does it rank?” he asked smugly.

“I need to–” He gasped for air. “Better assess the– the performance, and– fuck!”

Crowley licked him from his balls to his tip, and Aziraphale jolted in surprise. (Surprise that he hadn’t finished, yet, considering how good Crowley’s tongue felt.)

“Tell me, angel!”

“Fourth!”

Crowley smiled. “You think your ‘slutty’ cock-sucker didn’t put ‘giving you head’ in first or second place?”

“No, I don’t,” Aziraphale lied, totally unsure of his answer.

“Turn around then.”

Yes.

Squirming in anticipation, Aziraphale rolled on his stomach and exposed his naked arse to Crowley.

“Thank Satan for that shower sex because this is like my dream version of porn, angel. I could jerk myself off just looking at your arsecheeks. Make your pretty arse all filthy and sticky with my–”

“You won’t?” Aziraphale asked, not knowing what answer he’d rather get.

“Nope, not in this wishlist.”

Crowley spread him open with his thumbs and Aziraphale felt him lick his core with the flat of his tongue. He cried out and slapped his fist on the floor.

“Fuck, you taste so good,” Crowley said, drooling all over and twirling his tongue. Aziraphale was losing it, pushing back against that devilish mouth to give his husband better access, fucking his tongue to chase more pleasure.

When Crowley entered him with the tip, Aziraphale whined and looked over his shoulder. “More, fuck–”

“Where does it rank?” Crowley asked, his tongue leaving his arse so abruptly that Aziraphale felt bereft.

“No, keep going, I want you to make me come like this!”

“Not tonight, angel. Answer or no more tongue.”

“Third!”

Crowley dove in again, making him crazy with the tip of his tongue, pushing it in and out as if he were actually fucking him. Aziraphale grunted ferally.

Crowley loved rimming. He loved bringing Aziraphale over the edge with his tongue, there was a reason they almost never ran out of lube. And Aziraphale loved fucking Crowley’s tongue as much as his demon loved worshipping him with it. It was a mutual understanding. An arrangement of sorts. (The Tongue Arrangement.)

“What’s– what’s next?” Aziraphale asked, panting as Crowley’s tongue left his arse excruciatingly slowly. The waiting was such sweet torture. (He loved it.)

“This.”

Aziraphale heard a noise as Crowley uncapped something that sounded remarkably like–

“Lube? Did you just snap it into existence by miracle?”

Crowley giggled. “It was in the pocket of my robe.”

“Always prepared, darling?”

(Another lewd sound as Crowley squeezed the bottle.)

“I know that look.”

“What look?”

“Your expression after you fuck my mouth in the shower,” he elaborated, massaging his cleft as Aziraphale shivered at the cold sensation over his already over-sensitive skin.

“What expression?” he asked, obliviously.

Crowley put a finger inside him, crooking it, sliding it in and out, teasing his prostate just so.

“As if you were already planning me to fuck you exactly like this, you kinky bastard.”

And God helped him, Crowley was right.

Aziraphale had been coming down Crowley’s throat and he was already thinking about doing it again with his husband’s cock up his arse. He couldn’t help it. At nights like this, when they were alone, he wanted his husband to keep taking him apart in any possible way. And then he wanted to devour Crowley, and take him as well.

Aziraphale’s (few) ex-partners never really gave him a chance to fully express himself while having sex, and that was one of the many reasons why he’d never really enjoyed it.

Not until Crowley.

Crowley who loved him and completed him, Crowley whose soul balanced his. The yin to his yang, the moon to his sun. The only man with whom he’d built a solid relationship, based on sharing and receiving. With Crowley, Aziraphale had become insatiable. Inexperience had been overcome with the help of his (at first) naive enthusiasm, and now he loved having sex so much that whenever they started, he never seemed to get enough. He was a pathetic mess of want and need, and Crowley knew it and indulged him, making every sex encounter more passionate than the one before that.

“More?” Crowley asked.

“Fuck, yes. Please, darling, so much more.”

(More. What a lovely word.)

A second and third finger joined the first one. Crowley fucked him so well that Aziraphale couldn’t remember the game they were playing anymore. Was he supposed to do something–
“How’s this ranked?”

Oh, right.

“Not yet. Please, dear lord, keep doing thaaa–”

Three fingers pushed in so hard that Aziraphale saw stars.

“Give me a number.”

“Four.”

“You already picked four, it was cock-sucking.”

“Five!”

“Nipples,” Crowley chanted.

“Bloody– Six!”

“Well done, angel, have a gold star,” said Crowley, fingers leaving Aziraphale’s hole. “Now roll over again.”

No need to ask twice.

Aziraphale immediately complied, his obscenely hard cock bouncing on his belly as he positioned himself under Crowley, who gasped at the view. (To be fair, Crowley’s cock was at least as suggestively red and swollen.)

All that was left now was number one (obviously yet to come, pun totally intended) and number two. And Aziraphale was pretty sure that he knew what that was, too.

(There was nothing that screamed ‘I’m yours’ more than the taste of themselves on their lips. Nothing. Of course Crowley would leave ‘eat our come’ for last.)

But by now, Aziraphale did not care whether he won this game, he knew that they would go get that cat tomorrow. They loved Warlock too much to deny him anything.

“I think we both know what goes up there in your list,” he bravely told Crowley.

“Ready to find out?”

“Please, I’m begging here.”

“Like this?”

Aziraphale smiled and kissed him softly. “I want to see you.”

Crowley’s toothy grin made him melt. “Me too.”

Crowley made sure that he was ready for him with another round of exploratory fingering. (Which wasn’t necessary, to be honest. Aziraphale had never felt more open in his entire life. Crowley had never fucked him so deep with three fingers, he should ask to finish him like that one day. Or maybe later in the night.)

Approving his miraculous work with a sly grin, Crowley lubed his cock before finally aligning their bodies, bending Aziraphale’s legs to spread them even more. And then Crowley sank into him, and everything became a burning blur. Aziraphale was sent into a state of dizziness as the pain and the pleasure of having his husband inside him left him breathless. With his eyes half-closed, he pictured Crowley finishing inside him or over him, anticipating what was about to come. It made him feel it even more. The constant glow, the orgasm building underneath, strong and overwhelming. The pulse, the rush, the spirituality of it all. Aziraphale clenched around Crowley’s cock, making him moan. “Harder, darling.”

“Fuck.”

Crowley tightened his hand on Aziraphale’s hips as he pulled out and slammed back inside him faster and harder, just as he’d requested. He could feel his pulse racing in his ears, growing faster just like Crowley’s pace, which was getting frenzy, almost savage. Drops of sweats were streaming from Crowley’s forehead to his collarbone now, and Aziraphale licked them away. He was lulled by the lewd sound of skin slapping and Crowley grunting as he struggled to keep up that most unbecoming thrusting that was making Aziraphale–

“Coming–” he huffed. “I’m c–coming.”

Crowley wrapped his hand around Aziraphale’s cock to help him through it, finally tipping him over the edge.

“Is this in first place or–”

“Fuck me, first!” Aziraphale cried out.

His body was shaking and Crowley was still pounding inside him, hitting his prostate and making him see all the stars of the firmament.

And there he was, enveloped in pure bliss, and all he could think about was the next time.

“I want you again already.”

“Your mouth, angel,” Crowley gasped, his breath out of control.

When his cock finally stopped twitching (it could have been hours, really), Crowley finally let go of him, pulling out of his arse even if–

“You haven’t finish–”

“Oh, I have.”

Crowley came all over him in a long groan, fisting his own cock to cover Aziraphale’s belly with his come. Aziraphale watched, mesmerised by the vision that was his husband tumbling over the edge on top of him. He knew how much he loved this, leaving his signature on his skin, marking him as his.

Finally sated, Crowley collapsed under the fatigue of their love making, lying beside him in a messy tangle of limbs as Aziraphale caressed his flat stomach.

Crowley raised his hand to stroke his cheeks, fingers still dirty with both of them. Aziraphale licked them, cleaning the salty streaks in a well choreographed dance they both knew they both loved. (Crowley smiled at that, and Aziraphale’s heart exploded as if Crowley had just created a nebula in the sky.)

“So,” Crowley murmured (he cleared his throat when he realised his voice was all raspy). “Where does this rank?”

“For what?” Aziraphale wondered in serious astonishment. “Come eating?”

Crowley smirked. “That’s out of competition, angel.”

“The sticky aftermath?”

“Nope.”

In hindsight, Aziraphale should have seen this coming. (But he’d been so focused on the actual coming that he hadn’t.)

Of course, it would have been impossible to anticipate his husband assaulting him with a tickling attack.

Crowley knew his most ticklish spots (damned his neck and thighs), and Aziraphale laughed so hard as he tried to keep his hands off him. And yet, he just couldn’t stop, especially when he heard Crowley cackle as well under the fire of his counterattack.

When laughter finally subsided, Crowley stared at him in all seriousness as Aziraphale beamed at him.

“You lost, angel. This is my number one.”

“The tickling?”

Crowley shook his head and cupped his cheek. “Making you smile.”

Aziraphale felt tears at the corner of his eyes. “I love you so much.”

“Me too.”

“Another shower?”

“Check,” Crowley agreed. He stood up first, and Aziraphale took his proffered hand in his to follow him upstairs.

“Crowley?”

“Uh?”

“Did I get any of those rankings right at all?”

Crowley giggled. “A few, maybe. Fuck, I don’t even remember which ones you picked.”

“You knew I’d lose.”

“Yes.”

Of course he did. Crowley was a demon, and demons lie.

“You cheated.”

“Reasonably.”

Aziraphale pulled him towards him, their hands still entwined between their bodies.

“Next time, we do my wishlist.”

“I’m counting on it.”

🎄🎄🎄

“Oh, Crowley, look at this little ball of fur!”

Aziraphale was looking at a three-month-old white kitten. He was all fluffy and soft, eyes still as blue as the sky above. Mr Tyler had told them that he was a boy, the last kitten of a litter of five. As they stared at the little thing, the cat curled on himself.

“Look how cute he is,” Adam said in a high-pitched voice.

“All curved like that, he looks like a comma,” said Crowley.

“He really does!” Lock agreed. “Hi, Comma!”

Aziraphale’s eyes lit up as he took the bundle of fur in his hands.

“How soft, and white and– look at his eyes!”

Crowley did not have it in his heart to tell him that he’d already fallen in love with the cat when Tracy had sent him pictures of him. (Specifically because he looked like a proper ‘Aziraphale - The Pet Edition’.)

“You like him Lock?”

The kid nodded. “That’s why you asked me to add ‘cat’ to my wishlist? Because you knew he was so cute?”

Crowley looked at Aziraphale in horror. Oh, the bitchy smile on his face. He would never let this go, he would bring it up at every occasion, for the rest of their lives.

Fortunately, he decided not to rub it in while the kids were still around.

“Er… Adam… you think you can keep Dog away from him?”

“Don’t worry, Cro. Dog likes staying outside. We can keep Comma inside the house, at least until he grows up a bit.”

Crowley and Aziraphale exchanged a knowing look.

“All right. Go tell Mr Tyler that we’ll take him, then.” Aziraphale patted Lock’s shoulders and took the cat from his hands. The boys walked away, smiling cheerfully.

“So, angel.” Crowley stared at his husband who couldn’t keep his hands away from the kitten. “I thought you didn’t want a cat?”

“I don’t want a cat,” he replied, his eyes still glued to the pet. “I want him.”

Crowley chuckled. “You’re unbelievable. And–” He leaned forward, checking if they were on their own. “You do walk funny today.”

“What did you expect, with what you did to me yesterday?” Aziraphale objected, his fingers caressing the scruff on the cat’s neck.

“I was trying to put some sense into you.”

“Literally.”

Aziraphale’s eyes finally locked with his, and they burst out laughing.

“And don’t think I won’t have you beg for mercy for the little stunt you pulled.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Crowley feigned obliviousness.

“Sure you don’t, you tease.” Aziraphale snorted. “As if I hadn’t noticed that ‘cat’ had been written in a different ink.”

“Who are you, bloody Hercule Poirot?”

Aziraphale laughed at that and shifted, looking for the best way to stand up without bothering the little ball of fur in his hands.

“Come, angel, give him to me,” Crowley offered.

“Comma,” Aziraphale said as he delivered the cat into his hands.

“What?”

“His name. Just as you said. The kids already called him that.”

Crowley thought about it. Then he smiled and kissed Aziraphale’s cheek, making him blush. (He lingered for a moment, savouring the scrape of the angel’s beard over his cheek, surrounded by the flashes of pepper and citrus of Aziraphale’s beard oil.)

The kitten meowed as Crowley looked at his angel in awe.

“Right? I know you want to, but you can’t kiss him like that, because he’s mine.”

“Don’t be an idiot, darling.”

Aziraphale walked away, trying to hide how sore he was (and failing miserably). Crowley giggled to himself at the sight.

He looked down at the kitten who was staring at him with his light blue eyes.

“Don’t look at me like that! We’ll get you your own angel, ok? Or… ngk. Maybe a black little demon. If you’re anything like your other daddy, you’ll probably like that more.”

Crowley hastened his pace to join Aziraphale.

“Let’s go home, Comma.”